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Copyright N° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 




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Children of the Kingdom 

By 

Mary Adelaide Garnett 

(Beatrice Fernekees) 




NEW YORK 

THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY 

1915 



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TUbil obstat* 

Remigius Lafort, S.T.D. 
Censor* 



Imprimatur* 

►{« JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY, 

Archbishop of New York. 



New York, September 17th, 1914 



Copyright, 1914, by 
The Devin-Adair Co. 



DEC 16 1914 
©CI.A387960 



©ebtcattb to 

MARY, MOTHER OF GOD 

anb 

QUEEN OF ALL SAINTS 



Foreword 

IN these days of early First Commun- 
ions, it is well to place before the child 
mental pictures of those whom the Church 
honors as childhood's saints. The main 
outlines in the lives of these Children of 
the Kingdom are true. The setting alone 
is fanciful, throwing the picture into 
bolder relief. It has been attempted to 
write the stories just as they have been 
told to hundreds of eager boy and girl 
listeners. 

As types of holiness the little saints are 
not at all beyond the imitation of the 
average child of to-day. Sometimes I 
have put on the lips of a martyr the very 
words of children I have known and loved. 
The boys and girls of the present genera- 
tion are as deeply loyal, as truly loving, as 
were the saints of long ago. There is a 
veneer of worldliness, it cannot be denied, 

[7] 



over the hearts of very many of God's 
little ones, caused in great part by igno- 
rance of the lovableness of Christ and His 
friends, or cloaking a very real piety that 
they are ashamed to show. There are 
enemies to be met now as mighty as the 
foes of old, and all the more dangerous be- 
cause they are hidden. To meet them 
well, and to be victors in the conflict, the 
child soldier of Christ to-day needs the 
high courage and stainless nobility of 
God's martyrs. 

When, if not in childhood, can the 
ideals of Christ's kingdom be infused? 
To unspoiled souls there are no mysteries. 
Faith is made vision to the pure in heart. 
They peer into the dim stable of Beth- 
lehem, and with eager love long to shield 
the Baby- God from the cold winds of the 
hill. They watch the Boy-Christ as He 
treads the narrow streets of Nazareth, and 
listen to the miracles of the Master with 
misty eyes, in imagination kneeling at His 
feet, with the crowds of old holding fast 
His robe. In childhood the seeds of solid 

[8] 



virtue are sown in fertile ground, and 
later may bring forth fruit a hundredfold . 
When they learn that boys and girls of 
real flesh and blood, with the real joys and 
sorrows of children, lived lives of heroism 
for Christ, and were willing to face death 
for His sake, there comes into their own 
souls an almost unconscious increase of 
loyalty, honor, fearless love and simple 
faith. They learn to scorn what is low 
and base, sincerity reigns in their hearts, 
and they in turn, in another age, and in 
another way, become "Children of the 
Kingdom." 

BEATRICE FERNEKEES. 



[9] 



Contents 



PAGE 

Mary, Queen of All Saints 13 

Joseph, the Carpenter 18 

Anthony, Alter Boy, Martyr of Japan ... 22 

Agnes, Little Maid of Rome, Martyr ... 25 
Benedict the Younger, Little Shepherd Saint 

of France 30 

Barbara of the Tower 33 

Cyril, Loved of the Angels 36 

Cecilia, Girl Saint of Song 40 

Dioscorus, Boy Soldier of Christ 46 

Dorothy, God-given 49 

Eugene, the Youngest 54 

eulalia, the pure of heart 58 

Felix, Boy Saint of Happiness ..... 62 

Faith, the Brave 66 

Guy, the Wonder Worker 70 

Germaine, the Shepherdess 75 

Hugh, Martyr of the Cross 79 

Hope, the Little Sister 81 

Ignatius, Child of God 84 

Imelda, the First Communicant 88 

Januarius, the Eldest 93 

[10] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Julia, the Slave 98 

Kenelm, the Boy King 103 

Katherine, the Philosopher 108 

Louis, Little Martyr of Japan 113 

Lucy, the Devoted Daughter 118 

Maximian, the Sleeper 123 

Martina, the Beautiful 127 

Nomen, the Nameless One . . . ... . . 132 

Nunilo, Maid of Spain ........ 137 

Omnes Martyres 140 

Pancratius, Boy Martyr 145 

potomiana of the llllies 150 

Quiricus, the Baby Martyr . . . . . . 154 

Rogation, Red-Robed 159 

Rose, of Viterbo 163 

Simon, Infant Martyr 166 

soteris, the patrician's daughter .... 169 

Tarcisius, Martyr of the Blessed Sacrament . 172 

Thecla, First Girl-Martyr 177 

Ulpian, the Friend 180 

Venantius, Knight of the Cross . . . . . 184 

Victoria, Brave-Heart .188 

William of the Shops 191 

wlnifrede, of holy well 194 

A Little Follower of Xavier 197 

Yvo, the Student 200 

Zita, the Serving Maid " 203 

en] 



Mary, Queen of All Saints 

^"pHE little one raised her eyes, and 
■*■ gazed through the great Nicanor 
gate to the gleaming Holy of Holies. The 
old High Priest in his stately garments, 
surrounded by white -robed virgins with 
softly shining candles, received her in love, 
and listened to the whispered prayer that 
fell from her childish lips. 

How reverently God's angels must have 
hovered about their little Queen as she 
passed through the high -arched cloisters! 
Only three years had she been on earth, a 
lily purer than the fairest flower, golden- 
hearted, untouched by the slightest stain. 

Saint Anne and Saint Joachim watched 
her, until the last gleam of her candle faded 
in the distance, and the sweet singing of the 
Temple virgins died softly away. Then 
slowly and sadly they turned homewards, 

[13] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

to that house that never again would be 
so full of happiness. 

The years passed, and Mary grew fairer 
in soul and body in their passing. It is 
said that the timid doves loved to nestle in 
her arms, and hover cloud-like about her 
shoulders, whenever she left the cloister 
court. Often, she would sit with her back 
to the glittering city of Jerusalem, and 
her face toward the Holy of Holies, an 
open book of the Scriptures on her lap, 
pondering on the wonderful love of God 
for the people He had made. At her feet 
lay a basket of wool, and her distaff, for 
the moment, still. Her sweet face is full 
of peace, her eyes cast down, her lips 
trembling into the gentlest of smiles. The 
love of God cloaks her as a mantle, and 
His spirit broods over the soul He so dear- 
ly loves. 

But the days of quiet must end at last, 
and the little maid, at the call of God, left 
the Temple. 

[14] 



i 



#*:!:; 




"The peace of God cloaks her as a mantle. " 



MARY, QUEEN OF ALL SAINTS 

One night, as she knelt in prayer, in 
her poor home at Nazareth, a silver light 
gleamed all about her, and Gabriel, "One 
of the seven who stand before the Lord, 
bowed low in deep humility before her. 
"Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with 
thee, ' ' he cried, and when she did not un- 
derstand, he explained God's wonderful 
message. Out of all the world, and from 
all time, the King of heaven had chosen 
her to be the dear Mother of His Son, 
when He should come to earth. Mary 
bent her head, and answered low, "Be- 
hold the handmaid of the Lord, be it 
done unto me according to thy word. 

And then at Bethlehem, we see her in 
the tiny, bare cave, because there was no 
room for her at the inn on that first sweet 
Christmas night. In a little manger lined 
with straw lies the Baby King of all the 
world, and, kneeling beside Him, Mary, 
His Mother, looks at Him, in mingled joy 
and sadness. Dear Saint Joseph, in his 

[15] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

rough, brown robe and sandaled feet, stands 
by her side, his gentle face alight with 
wonder and love. Over the hills come the 
weather-beaten shepherds, followed by their 
flocks, and kneel in the starlight adoring 
their new-born King. 

But though Mary is Jesus' Mother, we 
long to be able to call her our Mother. 

Thirty-three years have passed, and it 
is a cold, bitter day on the Mount of 
Calvary. Nailed to a cross, Jesus, the 
same dear Lord Who rested in the manger 
at Bethlehem, and went about, through 
the lanes and by-ways of the cities, doing 
good, is dying for the sins of man. Dark- 
ness like a black cloud spreads over the sky, 
the sun hides its noontide glow. The last 
hour is nearing, and all the world is buried 
in gloom. At the foot of the cross stands 
Mary, the Mother of Jesus, close to Him 
now as she was in the little stable cave. 

Better than all the earth He loves her, 
and looking out over the sea of people 

[16] 



MARY, QUEEN OF ALL SAINTS 

surging at His feet like angry waves, His 
divine Heart is filled with yearning. He 
longs to save them, He knows their 
danger, and, turning to His Mother, He 
gives her to all who dwell in the world to 
be their Mother also. 

O Mary, Mother of God, and our 
Mother, lead us by the hand through the 
valley of the shadow, and bring us safe at 
length to the Feet of Jesus our King. 



[17] 



Joseph, the Carpenter 

TV/I" ANY years after the great king 
*■*■*■ David ruled over the people of Israel, 
there lived in the city of Nazareth a poor 
and lowly carpenter descended from that 
royal line. Rough were his hands and 
hardened by toil, but gently they uplifted 
the weary and sick, who dearly loved their 
good neighbor. 

We first hear of him in a pretty legend 
that brought him into the Temple court. 
Mary, the little virgin, who was later to 
be the Mother of God, was about to leave 
her peaceful cloister- home at the wish of 
the Lord. Commanded by an angel, the 
High Priest called together all the young 
men of the House of David, that God 
might show by a sign which one He would 
choose to be the husband of Mary. Many 
young men came, brave and strong and 
true of heart, and all were told to place 

[18] 



JOSEPH, THE CARPENTER 

their staves in a room of the Temple over 
one night. 

They obeyed, and in the morning the 
well-worn staff of dear Saint Joseph was 
found covered with snow-white lilies, and 
the air was heavy with their fragrance. 
Pure as the mountain frost was the soul 
of the simple carpenter, and into his care 
God gave Mary. 

Ah ! what happy aays tnose were, when 
after the return from Egypt they dwelt to- 
gether at Nazareth, Jesus, Mary and 
Joseph. In the workshop, and in the 
home, the sound of Jesus' voice, and 
the light patter of His feet, were as the 
sweetest music. And when in the task of 
the hour, Jesus' hand softly touched 
Joseph's, a strange thrill stirred the old 
man's heart. Together at nightfall, they 
would go down the village street, and re- 
turn the work done during the day. 
Sometimes into the carpenter's hand a 
little Hand could steal in loving comfort, 

[19] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

should a rough word or loud rebuke 
greet him. 

And then those quiet moments at dusk, 
when standing before them, perhaps with 
outstretched arms, as though longing even 
then to shed His Blood for men, Jesus 
would tell them of all that was to come. 
And the twilight would deepen, and the 
birds hush their songs, and the blossoms 
close their dewy petals, all unheeded, as 
Mary and Joseph watched Him. 

Sometimes in the workshop Saint Joseph 
would see Him put together two pieces of 
wood in the form of a cross, then stand 
back to gaze at it in eager love. And the 
old carpenter would wonder in silence. 

At last the day came when Saint Joseph 
could no longer work. The time had 
come when he must give up that sweet 
life of peace, and die, that going into 
Limbo, he might tell the souls who 
were waiting there that soon, so soon, 
Jesus would deliver them. It was hard for 

[20] 




Anjl Joseph would watch Him, and wonder in 
silence." 



JOSEPH, THE CARPENTER 

him to know that he must leave Jesus 
even for a little while, but it was God's 
will, and in that he was content. 

His poor cot was drawn close to the 
door, the sunlight shone warmly about 
him, and Jesus came from the inner room, 
and stood by his side. Joseph's eyes 
sought His eagerly. Not as the little Lad 
of the workshop was He coming now, but 
as God, and Judge. Yet His divine Face 
was alight with love and gentleness. At 
the foot of the bed knelt Mary. For the 
first time in long years, Saint Joseph's 
hands were still. Jesus took them in His 
own, and pillowed the tired head on His 
Heart. Weariness, pain and anxiety were 
gone now, and there was only a strong 
peace. With a smile on his lips Saint 
Joseph died. And we, as we watch him in 
mental picture, pray that we may die as 
he did, with Jesus by our side, and Mary 
very near. 

Feast, March nineteenth. 
[21] 



Anthony, Altar Boy — Martyr of 

Japan 

TT was early morning in far-away Japan. 
-*- In an open bamboo chapel a priest was 
saying Mass, and little Anthony was serv- 
ing him. Without, in the swaying tree 
branches, a bird was singing his matins, 
and the breeze, like an angel's thurible, 
wafted the incense of flowers before the 
throne of the King of kings. 

Everything spoke of peace, yet a war of 
the sternest kind was preparing, — a war 
against all who loved Christ Jesus. The 
quiet of the chapel was like the lull before 
the storm, and in the stillness a brave 
boy soldier was girding himself for the 
battle. 

Thirteen short years had Anthony lived, 
and each year had taught him to love God 
more. And now, though the battle for 
Christ's sake be hard, though he might 

[22] 



ANTHONY, ALTAR BOY— MARTYR OF JAPAN 

have to suffer torture, the eager, boyish 
soul never faltered in the loving gift of 
his life to God, when God willed, and as 
He willed it. 

"My God, You died for me," his lips 
trembled, as he rang the altar bell at the 
moment of Consecration. "Let me die 
for love of You. 

His prayer was heard. A few days later, 
because of his loyalty to the King of kings, 
he was condemned to be crucified. 

In silence the boy watched as the soldiers 
prepared the rough crosses on which he 
and the priest, whose Mass he had so often 
served, were to die. Then he stooped 
swiftly, pressed a light kiss on the 
splintered wood, and with a smile out- 
stretched his hands for the nails. The 
hammer fell with quick strokes, and the 
cross was raised. 

Side by side in the little chapel, the 
priest and the boy had prepared for the 
battle, and now side by side, triumphant 

[23] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

in victory, their souls were rising out of 
the smoke of conflict, and peace was very 
near. 

A brief time of pain, and the dear King 
Whom they loved called them home. 
The gates of His Kingdom were flung 
wide in welcome, and down through a 
vista of angel forms He came to whisper 
an eternal "Well done." 

Martyrs of Japan, February ninth. 



[24] 



Agnes, Little Maid of Rome — 
Martyr 

npHE walls of the little catacomb crypt 
■*■ were dark and bare, still marked 
with the uneven strokes of the pick -axe. 
The floor was streaked with damp, and 
the tiny rose flame of the hanging lamp 
scarcely lighted the rough-hewn altar. 

One by one the Christians had left the 
Mass chamber, and now Agnes was alone, 
—alone with the dear, hidden Lord. Little 
bride of Christ, white-robed, flower- 
crowned, her heart was too full for words 
of prayer. But a few moments past she 
had spoken her vow of virginity, and now 
she could not bear to leave Him to Whom 
her love was given. 

The call of the semantrons summoned 
her to go from the Master in His sacra- 
mental presence to find Him in work for 
His poor. Obedient to its sounding, she 

[25] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

rose from her knees. Bright tears dimmed 
for an instant her soft dark eyes, but she 
brushed them away. ■ ' Dear God, I am 
not worthy," she whispered. 

In and out, through the winding streets 
of the city where the poor were huddled 
together, the deaconesses and little virgins 
who had consecrated their lives to Christ, 
made their way, scattering sunshine and 
love, and winning souls to God. 

Of noble birth, and known throughout 
all Rome, Agnes could not do her work 
unseen. Won by a charm they could 
not understand, many pagans of high rank 
begged for her hand in marriage, but to 
each one, as they came, she gave the same 
answer, * ' To God alone my love is given. 

In those stern days of long ago, love of 
Jesus meant death for Him. The doom 
of the little maid was sealed. Soldiers 
came to her father's home with manacles 
to bind her hands and lead her before the 
court. One after another the chains 

[26] 




Robed in white, fairer than the vestals." 



AGNES, LITTLE MAID OF ROME— MARTYR 

were slipped over her wrists, but they were 
too large, and fell to the ground. 

Agnes smiled. ' I do not need your 
prison bracelets to lead me to Jesus," she 
said playfully. "I will go with you gladly 
for His sake." 

Clad in her virgin's cloak, fairer in her 
simplicity than the richly robed pagan 
maids about her, she stood fearlessly in the 
half gloom before the tribunal. They led 
her before the altar of Minerva and com- 
manded her to bow in adoration. On a 
carven stand were the coals for the in- 
cense, and the golden thurible. Dark-faced 
and servile, Minerva's priests bent forward 
to help her, but the child shrank from 
their touch. How different was this glitter 
and show from the quiet and peace of the 
dim catacombs ! 

She raised her hand in the sign of the 
cross, and her voice rang out in clear tones, 
"God alone will I adore, and to Him alone 
will I bow." 

[27] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

The face of the judge darkened, and 
turning to his guards he spoke a low word 
of command. In obedience they brought 
into the temple, the gleaming sword, sharp 
pincers, and the molten lead. Agnes looked 
at them calmly, no fear in her face, no 
fear in her heart. 

"This is the torture that awaits you, un- 
less you do my will," a stern voice said. 

Agnes lifted her head. "You have had 
my answer, ' ' she repeated softly. 

Then the Vestal virgins in their purple 
cloaks drew her to their midst and begged 
her to give worship to Vesta, the goddess 
of the home. Vividly they pictured the 
delights of her service, and the long night 
vigils before the sacred flame. 

Agnes shrank away as a lily wind-blown. 
She was a little virgin of Christ and craved 
no earthly honor. The Vestals were chosen 
from among the fairest maidens of Rome, 
and vowed their lives in pure service to 
Vesta, but they were as far below Agnes 

[28] 



AGNES, LITTLE MAID OF ROME— MARTYR 

as the valley lies below the snow-capped 
mountain. 

The judge bribed and nattered, then 
abused and threatened, but all in vain, and 
at last gave the order that she should be 
beheaded. 

Without a word, Agnes knelt and bowed 
her head. The Vestals turned away, sad 
at heart, and the face of the judge grew 
strangely set. 

The sword fell, and one of earth's sweet- 
est flowers was transplanted, to bloom 
with a yet rarer beauty in the eternal 

gardens of God. 

Feast, January twenty-first. 



[29] 



Benedict the Younger 
Little Shepherd Saint of France 

TTE was a simple shepherd boy on the 
*■ ■*- sunny hills of France. His flock of 
sheep he knew, each one by name, and they 
in turn knew and loved their little master. 
Sometimes he would lie down to sleep at 
night, his curly head pillowed on the soft 
fleece of a baby lamb. More often still he 
would lean on his shepherd's staff and look 
upwards towards the distant flame points in 
the sky, and think of God Who held the 
great universe in the hollow of His hand. 
What wonder that he grew to love God 
more and more as the days flew by. 
What wonder that God, seeing the strength 
and purity of the childish soul, chose him 
to be His instrument in the work He 
would have done. 

It was at sunrise one day, and the green 

[30] 



BENEDICT THE YOUNGER 

fields lay wet and sweet, bathed in the rose- 
light of morning. A Voice from far away, 
yet seeming strangely near, rang on the 
still air, "Benedict, My child, My little one, 
listen to Me." 

The boy fell on his knees, firmly grasp- 
ing his shepherd's staff. "Speak, Lord," 
he cried softly, "for Your servant hears 
You." The brown head was bowed low, 
and the boyish lips were parted in awe, 
but the brave heart was ready. 

Near the field where the sheep were 
browsing, ran a narrow, but dangerous river. 
Day after day many lives were lost in its 
tumbling waters, and no one was daring 
enough to bridge it over. This was to be 
Benedict's work, God -given, and God- 
aided. 

He had no money, and his strength was 
slight, but led by his angel he did so many 
miracles that the people were aroused at 
last and helped royally. 

The bridge was built, the governor him- 

[31] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

self lending his aid. On the middle arch 
a little chapel was made, and there beneath 
the red sanctuary lamp the lad spent many 
a happy moment. Barefooted, dewy- 
eyed, sometimes with a wee lamb in his 
arms, the little shepherd would kneel be- 
fore the tabernacle. For a time he would 
forget the rest of his flock, and the cool 
fields and the silver stars. Here was 
God, — and God loved him, — and he loved 
God. 

Not many years later the eternal Shep- 
herd called His little follower home, and 
Benedict felt at last the warm embrace of 
Him Whose Voice he had heard on the 
sunlit hills. 

He was buried under the altar of the 

chapel on the bridge, that all who passed 

might pause and think a moment of the 

boy who had done so great a work through 

his trust in God. 

Feast, April fourteenth. 

[32] 



Barbara of the Tower. 

"DARBARA'S home was in a lonely 
*-* turret, where her pagan father had 
placed her lest in some way she learn 
of God. Alone there day after day, she 
watched the trees bud into exquisite beauty 
in the fields below, and the stars shining 
in the dark skies, wondering who had 
made the world so fair. 

She looked about her tower room. 
Idols of clay adorned every nook and cor- 
ner, and little votive lamps were burn- 
ing before them. She passed slowly from 
one to another, touching each one carefully. 
There must be a greater God than these 
poor lifeless images. 

Throwing a scarf about her shoulders, 
she went out on her narrow balcony. The 
night air, heavy with fragrance, blew about 
her, and her eyes filled with tears. 

"Mighty God of all, I do not know You, 

[33] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

but I love You," was the prayer that 
welled up from her full heart. "Oh, teach 
me Who You are." 

Days passed, and God answered her 
appeal in His own way. A good old priest, 
who had heard of the little maid, went to 
her, and told her of the God Whom she 
had loved without knowing, and then at 
her desire baptised her in His name. 

And now Barbara longed for some token 
of Christ, some symbol of His love. With 
all her strength she despised the idols that 
surrounded her, wishing she had power to 
destroy them. Near her balcony a column 
of pure white marble pointed heavenwards. 
With a gentle touch she marked a cross on 
its surface, and the marble yielded as 
though it were wax. Then she knelt in 
prayer, her lips close to that sign of her 
Master's suffering. 

When her father heard that she had be- 
come a Christian, his anger went beyond 
all bounds. He himself dragged her be- 

[34] 



BARBARA OF THE TOWER 

fore the tribunal and added his threats to 
those of the judge, unless she would at once 
bow before the idols she had scorned. 

Barbara remained firm, and the order 
was passed that she must die. She was 
cruelly tortured, but brave and serene to 
the end, knelt at last for the death stroke. 
Her father stood behind her, sword up- 
raised, his daughter's executioner. A 
moment he stayed his hand, as a Voice, 
far and sweet, was borne on the quiet air, 
calling the girl-martyr home. 

Barbara lifted her head, her eyes full of 
happy tears. "Jesus, Master, I come," 
she cried, and outstretched her arms. The 
sword fell, and swifter than an arrow's 
flight her unsullied soul sped upwards to 
Him Whom she had loved in the shadow, 
Whom now she would see face to face. 

Feast, December fourth. 



[85] 



Cyril, Loved of the Angels 

HP HE gray shadows fell softly over the 
■*• hill, and deepened in the quiet 
valley. The birds were hushing their 
wee ones to sleep with the tenderest of 
mother-songs, and in the blue-black sky 
the stars were coming out one by one. 

Cyril threw back his head and smiled, 
though his eyes were wet with tears. ' 'Dear 
Father God," he said aloud, "did You 
light those lamps to show me the way 
home to You ? ' He paused to crush back 
the lump in his throat. ' 'You are my only 
Father now,' 1 he whispered softly; 'for 
the father You gave me on earth says he 
will not call me his child any longer because 
I love You. And heaven is my only home, 
for I can never go back to my other home 
unless I stop loving You. And I will never 
do that, dear God." 

He folded his white tunic closely about 

[36] 



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He hath given His angel charge." 



CYRIL, LOVED OF THE ANGELS 

him and went forward bravely. Night 
crept on, and only the occasional howl of 
a wolf and his own light footsteps broke 
the silence. But the boy was unafraid. 
Love drove out fear, and he could almost see 
his guardian angel by his side. The silver 
moonbeams seemed like the reflection of his 
outstretched wings, and the soft sounds in 
the woods like the rustle of his robes. 

At last, through very weariness, the lad fell 
asleep, curled in the roots of a gnarled old 
tree, an orphan of earth, but doubly the child 
of an infinitely tender Father in heaven. 

As the morning sun rose over the eastern 
hills, and shot its quiver of golden arrows 
into the shadowed woods, Cyril awoke, stiff 
and cramped, but light of heart. What if 
martyrdom awaited him in the near city, 
it would only mean a quicker going home. 

The streets were arousing to life. Heavy 
chariots were rolling by on the way to the 
homes of the rich. Droves of cattle were 
being driven to the market place, followed 

[37] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

by an ever-increasing cloud of dust. Men 
were crying out their orders, and the night 
guards were wearily awaiting those who 
were to relieve them. 

Full of boyish curiosity Cyril's eyes roved 
about eagerly. All was so new and strange. 
Once he had been to the city with his father, 
but that was long ago. At the thought, 
the young lips set the more firmly. Oh, if 
his father only knew God, surely then he 
would love Him, and side by side they 
might enter into His presence. Where 
should he go ? In all the wide streets he 
saw no familiar face, no open door to give 
him welcome. Overhead the sky was cloud- 
less, and the warm sunshine cheered the 
heart that had just begun to grow sad. A 
smile crept about his lips, and with 
one hand he smoothed his rumpled tunic. 

His noble bearing and fearless poise at- 
tracted the attention of the day guard who 
had just come to his post. "Where is 
your home, boy?" he asked. 

[38] 



CYRIL, LOVED OF THE ANGELS 

Cyril pointed upwards. "Heaven is my 
home," he answered simply, "and God is 
my Father." 

"Then you are a Christian," the man 
broke in. "Come with me." He brought 
him to the judge, who, full of pity for Cyril's 
tender years, offered him gold and honors 
if he would go back to his earthly father, 
and give up his heavenly home. But the 
boy was resolute, and neither punishment 
nor the threat of it could make him waver. 
Sentence was then passed and the death - 
fire kindled. 

With a prayer on his lips the child knelt 
down, folding his hands on his breast. The 
golden light of mid-day lay all about him, 
but deep in his eyes was a gladder, sweeter 
light than earth had ever seen. "I am 
coming, Father, coming home to You," 
he whispered, and the fair white angel by 
his side bore his soul to the Father. 

Feast, May twenty-ninth. 

[89] 



Cecilia, Girl Saint of Song 

CLAD in a tunic of soft wool, her hair 
falling unbound as a veil of virginity 
about her, Cecilia knelt in prayer. It 
was her wedding morning, and trembling 
a little she awaited the call that must 
soon come. Many months ago she had 
pledged her heart's love to God alone, 
but naturally timid she had not dared to 
tell of it when her parents had said that 
they had promised her hand to Valerian. 
Her face was as white as the bridal robe 
in which she had unwillingly been arrayed. 
"Dear God, teach me what to say," she 
pleaded. 

How the hours passed before sunset she 
never knew, but at last she stood before 
her lover, daring not even to raise her 
eyes to his. All her heart went out in a 
prayer for strength, as for the first time 

[40] 



CECILIA, GIRL SAINT OF SONG 

she whispered his name. "Wilt thou 
come apart a little with me," she said, 
"until I tell thee a wondrous secret?" 

He followed where she led, to a place 
apart from the pagan revel. All at once 
her fear fell away, and she told him simply 
of her vow to serve ever, in a near and 
sacred way, the great God of all." 
With a calmness that she felt came not 
from herself, she bade him respect her 
promise, as there stood by her side an 
angel ever ready to defend her. 

Valerian was silent a moment in doubt. 
Then he said slowly, "If I see the angel, 
I will believe." 

Cecilia smiled radiantly. "Go out on 
the Appian Way,' she said, "and at 
the third milestone thou shalt see a group 
of beggars. To a place underground and 
dark shall they lead thee, but on thy 
return thou shalt see my angel.' 

Full of wonder Valerian obeyed. Down 
through the winding ways of the cata- 

[41] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

comb of Callistus the beggars led him 
on, until he stood before the Bishop 
Urban. A little abashed at the calm 
majesty of the old man, he told him of 
his errand. Then the Bishop taught him 
of God and of the faith of a Christian 
soul, and the heart of Valerian was 
touched. Humbly he begged for Bap- 
tism, and after a time of thought the 
Bishop granted his plea. 

Full of joy the young nobleman, pagan 
no longer, returned to Cecilia. He en- 
tered the room softly, but she was unaware 
of his coming. Angel forms had gathered 
about her, and she knelt with uplifted 
face in their midst. Faint music as though 
from hidden choirs swept the little room. 
Reverently he knelt at a distance from 
her, and when her prayer was done, told 
her of his conversion. 

A brief time later, because he had dared 
to bury with honor the bodies of some 
Christian martyrs, he was condemned to 

[42] 



CECILIA, GIRL SAINT OF SONG 

death. With him died his brother 
Tiburtius, whom he had brought to 
God. 

Cecilia laid their bodies to rest in the 
cemetery of Saint Callistus and daily 
longed for the hour when she too might 
confess Christ. Her time came in the 
month of November, when in the absence 
of the Emperor, Alexander Severus, 
Amalchius, Prefect of Rome, opened a 
little persecution of the Christians. 

Before his tribunal she told of her love 
for God, and was condemned to be suffo- 
cated in her own home. 

In the palaces of the wealthy Romans 
there were luxurious baths arranged in an 
upper hall. An outer room, called the 
Frigidarium, was for cold baths. Adjoining 
it was the Tepidarium, where the waters 
were touched with warmth, and a small 
high- walled cell, arranged for vapor baths, 
was called the Caldarium. Under this 
room there was a furnace which heated 

[43] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

the water in the circular coils above, until 
great clouds of steam poured into the 
narrow space. It was in a room of this 
kind that Cecilia was placed, and the 
little cell is still to be seen in her home on 
the Via Salutaris. 

For long hours the jailers left her here, 
while they fed the flames in the great fur- 
nace. But when they opened the door 
they found the room swept by cool breezes, 
and Cecilia unhurt. 

A soldier was then sent to cut off her 
head. He stopped a moment in the cor- 
ridor, watching her as she stood against 
the gray wall. Her robes of rose and gold, 
her long shimmering hair, made her seem 
a flower of rare, strange beauty. His 
hand trembled, and he brushed the mist 
from his eyes as he crossed the threshold. 

Silently, Cecilia knelt for the death- 
blow. Three strokes were allowed by the 
Roman law, and no more. They were 
given, — but blindly, — and seeing that she 

[44] 



CECILIA, GIRL SAINT OF SONG 

still lived the man threw down his sword 
and fled. 

For three days Cecilia lingered in pain, 
making affectionate signs to those who 
strove in vain to staunch the flow of blood. 
Then sweetly as a child sinking in a mo- 
ther's arms, she fell asleep in the Lord. 
Feast, November twenty- second. 



[45] 



Dioscorus, Boy Soldier of Christ 

1 'V/'OU will not offer incense to Jupiter, ' 

* the judge repeated angrily. "Do 
you not know that I have the power to 
force you to do it?" 

The boy bowed his head. "You may 
force my hand to swing the censer,' 1 he 
said, and his voice rang out boldly, ' 'but 
you can never force my heart to bow 
before an idol of stone. " 

The judge gave a signal, and six strong 
Greek soldiers stepped forward, standing 
in silence on either side of the slight, boy- 
ish form. Dioscorus moved not a muscle. 
He was the soldier of another army, and 
the honor of his King was at stake. 

At a sign from the judge he was thrown 
on a rack, and his hands and feet fast 
bound to the pulleys. The wheels were 

[46] 



DIOSCORUS, BOY SOLDIER OF CHRIST 

turned, and the bright face grew gray 
under the agony. Every bone was pulled 
from its socket, but the tense lips uttered 
no cry. 

"Now will you offer incense?" the judge 
demanded. And the boy's voice, sharp 
with pain, rang out, "No,— never.' ' 

The torch was applied, and the heavily 
tipped lash tore the wounded body, but a 
true soldier of the thorn-crowned King, 
the lad bore it in silence. 

The judge then changed his tactics and 
tried persuasion. He offered the boy re- 
wards, a place near his own person, all to 
be won by a moment,— just one moment 
of adoration before Jupiter. "I have pity 
on your youth,' the judge said. "For 
fifteen years have you served your God. 
Now bow to mine, and I will give you 
whatever you may ask. ' : Dioscorus raised 
his right arm, crippled and weak though 
it was from the torture. "Yes," he said, 
• 'for fifteen years have I served my God, 

[47] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

and with His help I will serve Him through- 
out eternity." 

It was a noble answer, and deep down 
in his stern heart the judge softened to- 
wards the boy who had faced death so 
fearlessly. 

"Go," he said, and there was a strange 
tenderness in his voice, "and serve Alex- 
andria as faithfully as you have served 
your God. I would not condemn so brave 
a soldier to death. 

Weak and bleeding, yet victor, the boy 
was borne from the court room amidst the 
plaudits of the grim men about him. 

The ordeal was over, and life still pulsed 
joyously in his veins, a new gift of God. 
There was a glory in the sunlit spaces, a 
breath of freedom in the very air, and 
deep in his heart a strength proof against 
a thousand foes, 

Feast, December fourteenth. 



[48] 



Dorothy, God-Given 

MpHE iron gate slammed, and Dorothy 
•*■ was alone. Down the white road 
strode the senator's son, his toga flying 
in the wind. 

For the first time in her life the little 
maid was afraid. Her face was as white 
as the snowflakes now whirling about her. 
She drew her cloak closer with a little 
shiver, not wholly from the cold. 

Her eyes followed the fast disappearing 
figure of the angry boy. She had refused 
to marry him because she had promised 
herself to Jesus Christ, and all her sweet, 
pure love was given to the Heart of God. 
Theophilus would tell the Emperor that 
she was a Christian, then would come ter- 
rible tortures and death. Oh, would she 
be brave enough to suffer then, when 

[49] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

now she was trembling at the mere 
thought of the flames and sword? Tears 
came to her eyes. She was only a 
weak girl, and the soldiers were so 
strong. 

Then a thought quieted her. The name , 
Dorothy, meant "Gift of God." Her 
life was the dear Lord's gift. If she of- 
fered it back to Him bravely for His sake, 
would He not be with her even in the 
midst of the flames, to give her strength 
and courage? 

Her lips smiled, her arms fell apart. 
"Dear God, I am not afraid now," she 
whispered, her face upturned to the gray 
skies. 

A few months later a crowd without a 
prison waited for a sight of the girl 
martyr. Because she would not bow 
before the idols, Dorothy had that very 
day been condemned to death. As they 
watched, the gates swung wide, and 
Dorothy, her wrists bound, and guards on 

[50] 



DOROTHY, GOD-GIVEN 

either side, came forth. Her step was 
firm, her sweet lips smiling, but her eyes 
modestly cast down. 

Theophilus was among the watching 
throng. As she passed him, he cried 
mockingly, ' 'You are going to die for God, 
you say. I will believe that there is a 
God if you send me roses and apples from 
His garden. 

Dorothy raised her eyes for a fleeting 
instant, then dropped them again. "I 
will send them," she answered simply. 

That night, while Theophilus was try- 
ing to drown the memory of Dorothy's 
death in a gay banquet, a little child stood 
suddenly by his side. On one arm was a 
basket of crimson roses, and nestled deep 
down in the dark green leaves were apples, 
too fair to have been grown in the gardens 
of earth. "Dorothy bade me give these 
to you," a sweet voice whispered. 

Theophilus turned, startled, but the 
boy had disappeared. Only the basket 

[51] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

with its fragrant burden of fruit and 
flowers remained. 

"Here, catch that boy," he cried to the 
servants. "What boy?" they asked. 
"We have seen no one." 

Theophilus waited not to answer, but 
sped out into the night. White-faced, 
he sought the city streets. Glaring lamps 
flashed at intervals along the dark ways, 
and by their light he peered wildly into 
hidden places. But no sign of the little 
one. Terror lent wings to his feet. Men 
turned to look after him, but he cared 
not. Dorothy's face, pure and sweet, 
gleamed before him, and urged him on. 
If the wee messenger were an angel of 
God, and the roses had come from His 
eternal home, then the faith for which 
the martyr had died was true. 

All the long night he searched in vain, 
and the still hours of dawn found him 
prostrate in the open fields outside of the 
city gates. He pressed his hot face to the 

[52] 



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Who will not suffer His own to be lost, but calls 
every straying lamb by name." 



DOROTHY, GOD-GIVEN 

cool, green grass, and the first prayer of 
his life sprang to his lips. 

"O God of Dorothy, have mercy on 
me/' he sobbed. "I believe, I believe. ' : 

One by one he remembered the words 
she had spoken to him, their sweetness 
and earnestness, and above all, her gen- 
erous forgiveness, when she knew he had 
sought her life. Ah, the God whom she 
loved so dearly must be the true God. 

A few brief months, and his new-born 
faith was strangely tested. As Dorothy 
had done, he stood before the great tri- 
bunal, thrilled by the thought that she had 
listened to her sentence, perhaps, on 
that very spot. Bravely he confessed 
Christ, and won the martyr's crown. The 
prayers of the girl martyr had been 

answered in heaven. 

Feast, February sixth. 



[53] 



Eugene, The Youngest 

HP HE room was full of warmth and 
*■ light, and before the cheery fire on 
the hearth, Symphorosa and her boys 
were gathered. Eugene, the youngest, 
was resting his head on his mother's knee; 
Julianus stood behind her, one hand on 
her shoulder; Crescentius was writing at 
a table drawn up near, and the others 
were listening eagerly to something the 
mother was saying. An instant later 
Crescentius dropped his quill and joined 
the group. 

"My little one/' the mother repeated, 
one hand softly patting Eugene's tumbled 
curls, "tell me, what would you do if Ha- 
drian, the Emperor, should order you to 
bow to the idol he adores?" 

The boy sprang to his feet, his eyes 
glowing. "I would rather die than give 

[54] 



EUGENE, THE YOUNGEST 

up God,' he cried! ' 'But, my mother," 
he continued, "why does not the Emperor 
leave us alone ? What are we doing to 
harm him ? We obey his laws, all save 
this one." 

"Ah, but that is just the point, little 
brother, ' ' Julianus broke in. ' 'He claims 
that his gods will not answer when he 
prays to them because we are Christians, 
and are allowed to live. The time may 
come soon, Eugene, when you will have 
to carry out the promise you have just 
made. May God give us all strength in 
that day, ' he added reverently. 

There was a heavy rap at the door, and 
in answer to the "Salve," or "Welcome, " 
of the Romans, a captain of the guard 
entered the room. 

"Hadrian calls for you, ,: he said, 
come. 

The mother bowed her head. ''We 
will go with you, ' ' she replied. There was 
no sign of fear in her eyes, and as little 

[55] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Eugene placed his hand confidingly in 
hers, he drew her down to whisper, "I 
will keep my promise, mother. ' 

Guarded by the soldiers, the mother 
and her seven noble boys made their way 
to the court room. A crowd had gathered 
to witness the trial, but the boys showed 
no excitement. One after the other they 
were asked, "Will you bow to the idols?" 
One after the other gave the brave answer, 
"Never, for Christ is our King." 

When the question came to Eugene, 
the Emperor stopped him. "Think, 
boy, ' ' he urged, ' 'think what it means to 
say no. You will be put to death in 
great pain, and everyone will think of you 
as a traitor. But if you bow only for an 
instant at the altar of Mars, all will praise 
you as a loyal Roman. Think of this 
before you answer. 

The boy threw back his head and smiled 
into his mother's eyes. "I would rather 
die than give up God, ' ' he said. 

[56] 



EUGENE, THE YOUNGEST 

Hadrian's face grew stern, 'You have 
chosen death, you shall have your will, ' ' 
he cried. 

One by one the boys gave their lives to 
God, and last of all Symphorosa, having 
suffered a sevenfold martyrdom in wit- 
nessing that of her sons, gave her life to 
the Master in willing sacrifice. 

Feast, July eighteenth. 



[57] 



Eulalia, The Pure of Heart 

HHHE stars were coming out one by one, 
«■• like lights shining through the far 
windows of heaven. Fleecy little clouds, 
like baby angels, flew softly between 
heaven and earth. 

Eulalia watched them, with an eager 
desire to be as near to God as they were. 
There was a path to heaven she knew, 
that was swift and sure— the path of mar- 
tyrdom. But her parents, afraid lest she 
offer her life too freely, had taken her away 
from the city of persecution, to this quiet 
little village of Emeretia. And now she 
was so many miles away, so far away, 
from that dear path. 

Suddenly a light crept into her eyes, 
and she clapped her hands softly. She 
would find a way to the city, and tell the 

[58] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

judge that she loved Jesus. Then she 
would die — oh, so gladly, and speed over 
the road of martyrdom to God. 

Quickly she gathered her cloak about 
her and sped out into the night. She 
looked up at the stars as she ran, with a 
thrill of joy at the thought that soon she 
would be beyond their light, kneeling in 
the white radiance of God's love. She 
could almost hear His voice calling her, 
"Come, child of My Heart— come, ' ' and 
the thought lent wings to her feet. 

The still night air, sweet with forest 
odors, blew softly about her, and seemed 
to urge her onward swifter still. At last 
the lights of the city mingled with the 
faint flush of coming dawn at the horizon's 
edge— her journey was nearly done. 

The sun was high in the skies when she 
reached the court room where the judge 
was sitting. Almost exhausted from her 
journey, her curls tumbled over her shoul- 
ders, her eyes wide and eager with loving 

[59] 



EULALIA, THE PURE OF HEART 

zeal, she ran towards the idol of Jupiter, 
and pointed at it with a scornful finger. 

' 'Is that the god you adore, ' ! she cried, 
"a thing made of stone? He Who 
created heaven and earth is God, and 
Him only should we serve. 

The angered judge commanded that the 
child be punished for a time on the rack. 
The soldiers obeyed the order, but the little 
maid, strong in her love for Jesus cruci- 
fied, murmured only His dear name as the 
pain increased. She was then whipped 
with heavy scourges, and at last con- 
demned to be burned at the stake. 

A great fire was kindled, and Eulalia 
was bound close in the midst of the flames. 
Her arms were free and she crossed them 
on her breast as she bowed her head in 
prayer. The scarlet tongues leaped and 
writhed about her, but warmer than the 
flames glowed the heat of God's love in 
her girlish heart. 

The suffering, though keen, was not 

[60] 



EULALIA, THE PURE OF HEART 

for long, and the eager little soul passed 
beyond the starlight, to be at rest forever 
in the arms of God. 

Feast, December tenth. 



[61] 



Felix, Boy Saint of Happiness 

IKE Saint Eugene, Felix was one 
■" of seven brothers, and his mother 
was a noble matron of Rome. She was 
called Felicitas, which means happiness, 
and Felix was named for her. 

From the time he was a wee boy, he 
had learned at his mother's knee the true 
meaning of happiness, and whenever he 
came to her in tears to show her the big 
bump on his head or to tell her of some 
boyish trouble, she would comfort him by 
saying gently, "Felix, my little son, God 
does not want us to be always happy here. 
If we really love Him, we should be will- 
ing to suffer sometimes for Him on earth, 
that we may be truly happy with Him in 
heaven. 

With the passing years the boyish heart 
of Felix expanded as a flower in the sun- 

[62] 



FELIX, BOY SAINT OF HAPPINESS 

shine of God's love. At school and at 
play he was a favorite, until on a certain 
day it became rumored that he was a 
Christian. Felix heard the rumor, but 
forgot it almost as soon as it was spoken, 
and went about his study and fun as 
happily as before. 

Early one morning the blow fell. He 
was on his way to school, and the 
path he was following led him through 
a cool, dim stretch of wood, then turned 
abruptly to the great Roman road. His 
heart was full of happiness, that deep, 
peaceful happiness that comes from God 
alone. The sunlight played through the 
gnarled old trees. The dewy, fragrant 
blossoms at his feet and the soft morning 
breezes blowing about him spoke of joy 
and content. A snatch of song was on 
his lips, and his sandaled feet scarcely 
pressed the moss-grown path. 

Suddenly through the trees he caught 
the glint of steel. Two soldiers were 

[63] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

coming towards him. His heart stood 
still. For one instant he halted in fear. 
Then he braced himself with the sweet 
bravery of a soldier of Christ. Behind 
him lay the peace of the woods, before 
him conflict, but the victor's palm was 
happiness eternal! 

The soldiers grasped him roughly by the 
arms. ' 'The judge calls for you, ' ' one said 
roughly, "come." 

The lad obeyed. By their side he trav- 
eled the old Roman highroad. Curious 
eyes turned to gaze at him, but he never 
saw them. His thoughts were fixed on 
the trial to come. 

The great court room was reached at 
last, and there his mother and brothers 
awaited? frirn^ They also were to be con- 
demned to death because of their love for 
Christ Jesus. 

The harsh words were spoken, ' 'Felic- 
itas, renounce Christ and bow to the gods 
of Rome or thou and thy sons shalt die. ' ' 

[64] 



FELIX, BOY SAINT OF HAPPINESS 

Softly his mother's voice answered, "I 
can never deny my Lord and my God. ' ' 

One by one the boys were questioned, 
and one by one they gave their answer. 

Felix was condemned to be beaten to 
death with clubs. Throughout the long, 
terrible torture, when the blows were 
heaviest, the mother's heart beat in 
earnest prayer for her boy. As he fell at 
last, victor, though dying, at the feet of 
the judge, he smiled feebly towards her. 

A long ray of sunlight lit up his white 

face and she caught the scarce whispered 

words, ' 'Mother, I am so happy.' The 

dark eyes closed, there was a softly drawn 

breath and the eager, boyish soul sped 

forth to enjoy forever the happiness he 

had so nobly won. 

Feast, July tenth. 



[65] 



Faith, The Brave 

TT was a dreary day in mid- winter. In 
* the narrow passages of the catacombs 
the rough stone walls were streaked with 
dampness, and the cold wind swept sharp- 
ly through the rocks piled up to hide the 
entrance. 

Toiling slowly along the dark, uneven 
passage was a Roman mother, a sleeping 
child in her arms. One hand was out- 
stretched before her, as she half blindly 
felt her way. Over and over again she 
whispered softly to herself the name of 
Jesus. Brave though she was, and used 
to danger, the bitter cold and stillness of 
the catacombs filled her with terror, and 
every few steps she paused to listen for 
other footfalls than her own. 

At last a faint glimmer of candlelight 
in the distance pointed like the star of 
Bethlehem, long ago, to the tiny cave- 

[66] 




Iii the quiet Catacombs where the Christians 
prayed, and where there was peace in the midst 
of the battle." 



FAITH, THE BRAVE 

home of the King of kings, and she knew 
she was nearing her journey's end. The 
light streamed from the entrance to a 
small chapel, where a silver-haired priest 
was praying with bowed head and out- 
stretched arms before a rude altar. Near 
him was a baptismal font, cut into the 
rocky floor. 

"Father,' she whispered softly. He 
heard and arose from his knees. Smiling, 
he came towards her and held out his arms 
for the child. ' 'Not God's little one yet, ' ' 
he said gently, "but soon to be. What 
name shall we give thee when thou art 
made God's child?" he said to the wee 
form in his arms. 

The mother's eyes were full of happy 
tears. "Call her Faith, Holy Father," 
she cried, ' 'that my child may hold that 
treasure dearer even than life. ' 

A moment later, and the clear cold 
water touched the little brow and the 
solemn words were spoken, "I baptise 

[67] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

thee, Faith, in the name of the Father, 
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 

Kneeling before the altar, the mother 
held her child to her heart for an instant, 
then outstretched her arms in surrender 
and laid the little one at the foot of the 
rough cross that hung on the wall. "I 
give her to You, Jesus,' 1 she whispered. 
"Keep her soul always as pure as it is to- 
day. 

The years passed, and baby Faith 
blossomed into maidenhood, true and 
sweet in the midst of the wickedness about 
her as a snow-white lily in a bed of rank 
weeds. She held her heart aloft for the 
King's love. Hope and Charity were her 
two little sisters, and the mother used to 
call them her trinity of daughters. 

At last came the day so longed for by 
the brave little Christians of Rome, the 
great day when they were called to lay 
down their lives for the sake of Jesus 
Christ, Who had died for them. The 

[68] 



FAITH, THE BRAVE 

three girls were brought captive together 
to the great court room, where they stood 
fearlessly before the judge. 

Faith, the eldest, was tried first. 
Twelve short years had she spent on earth, 
but her courage was as dauntless, her 
resolve as high as though she had faced 
the storms of half a century. She was 
condemned to be thrown into a cauldron 
of boiling pitch. The brutal order was 
carried out, and she remained unharmed 
in the midst of the terrific heat. 

The j udge, unmoved by the evident touch 
of God's hand, ordered her to be beheaded. 
The child kissed her mother, and was 
held to her heart once more, as so long 
ago before the little altar of the cata- 
combs, then was surrendered once more 
to the thorn-crowned King. And the girl 
passed joyously to that eternal land where 
faith is changed to vision and the soul is 

at home with God. 

Feast, August first. 

[69] 



Guy, The Wonder Worker 

GUY dropped his stylus, leaving a 
Roman character only half formed 
on the waxen tablet before him. "Are 
you then a Christian, Modestus?" he 
cried. 

The old man bowed his head. ' 'I am, ' ! 
he answered simply. 

A puzzled look crept into the boy's eyes. 
"But Christ was nailed to a cross,' he 
said, "and Jupiter and Mars are still in 
our great temples. O Modestus, which 
is the true God?" 

The master smiled, and a strange glow 
touched his worn old face. "Jesus Christ, 
Who died to give us life, Who rose again 
from the dead, and Who reigns eternally 
in heaven, is true God, ' ' he answered rev- 
erently. 

Guy was silent, stirred by the love and 

[70] 



GUY, THE WONDER WORKER 

faith in the old man's eyes. The little 
school was very still, and the master's 
face, strong and fearless, was turned from 
the boy, as he stood looking toward the 
sunset. Cloud roses were massed low in 
the western sky, waiting the good-night 
touch of the Eternal Gardener, and a 
golden glory shone in the path of the 
dying sun. The boy laid his hand on his 
teacher's arm. "It is the gateway of 
heaven where Jesus is," he whispered, 
and then he added impulsively, "O Mo- 
destus, teach me to love Him, for He died 
for me, too." 

A few days later Guy was baptised. 
From that moment God gifted him with 
miraculous power. Devils fled before him 
as he made the sign of the cross; sight 
was given to the blind and health to the 
sick. 

When Hylas, the lad's father, was told 
that his son had become a Christian, he 
became very angry. He tried by every 

[71] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

means in his power to force his son to 
bow before Jupiter once more. Bravely 
the boy refused. 

As Modestus prayed that night, an 
angel stood by his side. The room was 
flooded with silver light, and a deep peace 
fell on the old man's soul. All unafraid, 
he raised his head. "What is God's 
will?" he asked softly. 

With a tender smile, the angel pointed 
to the sleeping boy. "Awake the child 
and follow me. God wills it. ' : 

The wondrous voice fell full and sweet 
in the little room. As its music died 
away, Modestus knelt by the bed and 
folded Guy in his arms. "Child,' he 
whispered, ' 'we must go. God wills it. ' 

Obediently, the boy arose. He stood 
still a moment in his soft, white tunic, 
his dark eyes filled with tears. Then he 
ran lightly towards his father's door and 
knelt by the threshold. "Good-by, fa- 
ther," he whispered, — a sob in his throat. 

[72] 



GUY, THE WONDER WORKER 

Modestus wrapped a cloak about him, and 
together they fled out into the night, fol- 
lowing the silvery trail pointed out by 
their angel guide. 

Months passed. In the great Roman 
palace the daughter of the Emperor lay 
on a bed of pain, tormented by a devil. 
Her sweet face was white as the pillow on 
which she rested. The doctors feared 
that death was near. In vain were sacri- 
fices offered to the idols— there was no 
relief. The devil cried that he would 
leave only by the command of Guy. 

Almost in despair, the Emperor sent 
for the boy. Guy at once obeyed the 
summons, and in a few hours was 
knocking at the palace gate. When 
shown to the sick room he quietly knelt 
by the bedside of the stricken princess, 
his boyish head bent low in prayer, then 
stood erect, and slowly made the sign of 
the cross. 

The Emperor eagerly watched his child. 

[73] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

He saw a sudden change pass over her 
sweet, still face. The tortured lines re- 
laxed; a soft flush crept into her cheeks, 
and she opened her eyes with a glad 
smile. "Father, the evil spirit has gone, ' : 
she whispered. 

Through the palace the news spread, 
and every one flocked to see the boy who 
had done so marvelous a thing. But 
the Emperor was puzzled. He called the 
boy aside to ask him by what power he 
had driven the devil forth. 

Reverently Guy answered, "By the 
cross of my Saviour, Jesus Christ. ' Fu- 
rious to think a Christian had healed his 
daughter, the ruler condemned the boy 
to death. Modestus was condemned at 
the same time, and, side by side, master 
and pupil passed beyond the sunset 
to rest forever with the Lord Whom 
they had served. 

Feast, June fifteenth. 

St. Vitus, or Guy. 

[74] 



Germaine, The Shepherdess 

rpHE door of the little hut was open, 
■*• and a faint odor of clover blossoms 
and new-mown hay was borne in on the 
still night air. A bar of silver moonlight 
shone through the window and rested on 
a rough bed in the corner where a young 
mother lay dying. By the bedside knelt 
a little child, gently stroking the work- 
hardened hands that now lay so still on 
the worn blanket. 

"Germaine, my little daughter," the 
mother whispered softly, "Jesus is calling, 
— I am going home— to Him. Can you 
look up bravely, and say, 'Dear God, 
You know best?" 

The child's eyes tilled with tears, but 
the noble little heart never faltered. 
' 'God knows best, mother, ' ' she whispered. 

When the first faint flush of dawn 

" [75] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

broke over the eastern hills the child was 
alone. Jesus had called the mother. 
She was at rest with Him. 

Oh, how sad and lonely for Germaine 
were the days that followed! Her father, 
a hard-working shepherd, married again, 
and gave scarcely a thought to the frail 
little daughter, who so needed his love. 
Long days at work in the fields, with 
poor food and no care, so weakened the 
little one that she was soon but a shadow 
of her former self. Great sores and ulcers 
broke out over her body, and her step- 
mother, in anger at her changed appear- 
ance, drove her from home. 

Alone with her sheep, suffering, and 
keenly sensitive to the harsh treatment of 
her parents, the child's thoughts turned 
more and more to her home in heaven, 
where her own dear mother was waiting 
for her. As the shadows fell at sunset, 
and cool winds from the sea swept over 
the hills, she would watch the lights gleam 

[76] 



GERMAINE, THE SHEPHERDESS 

out, one by one, in the distant cottages, and 
long for one little light to shine a welcome 
for her. 

In the little village church, bowed low 
before the golden door behind which Jesus 
was hidden for her, Germaine spent all 
her free moments. Softly the little bare 
feet would tread the old stone floor, and 
close to the wooden rail, so near to Jesus' 
Heart, cold, hunger, suffering,— all were 
forgotten in His Love. 

The crusts of bread that were her only 
food she shared with other little shepherd 
maids whose needs were as great as her 
own, and her sweet smile whispered hope 
and courage into hearts that were lonely 
and sad. 

The lambs loved the hard, brown hand 
that fed them, or rested gently on their 
shaggy wool. It was a pretty sight to see 
a wee lamb, tired and cold, nestle in her 

arms. 

Of the terrible sufferings the ulcers 

[77] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

caused, the little maid never spoke, nor of 
the long nights of pain. That was Jesus* 
secret and hers. Day after day as she 
knelt before the rosy flame of the sanctu- 
ary lamp her longing to be with Him in- 
creased. At last Jesus answered her 
prayer. Germaine fell asleep in the arms 
of God, to awake at home, at last, face 
to face with the dear Lord Who was her 
* 'reward exceeding great." 

Feast, June fifteenth. 



[78] 



Hugh, Martyr of The Cross 

fT^HE sun threw an aureole about his 
* sunny hair as he stood before the 
open door of his home, his face lifted for 
his mother's kiss. A little lad of only 
eight, he seemed born to diffuse bright- 
ness through earth's gloomy places. As 
he passed along the village street his feet 
scarcely touched the ground for very joy. 
Snatches of songs arose to his lips, and 
his clear brown eyes shone with the light 
of God's sunshine, a sunshine that came 
from a heart as pure as the mountain 
snow. 

A co'rner of the street was turned, and 
an instant later a band of Jews sprang on 
the little lad, gagged and bound him, and 
led him away. It was on Friday, the day 
blessed by our Lord in His death for 
us. At three o'clock in the afternoon, 
the child was fastened upon his cross to 

[79] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

die. The nails were driven in, the cross 
was raised, and the Jews gathered about 
to mock at the lithe little form so still in 
its agony. 

The sweet face was drawn with pain, 
but uplifted still to the summer skies as 
if to look beyond the blue curtain and 
see the King beloved Who was waiting to 
bestow upon His little soldier the palm 
of martyrdom. The minutes dragged 
slowly on,— oh, so slowly!— but no mur- 
mur of pain escaped the boy; only again 
and again, the name of Jesus. 

How many white -winged angels must 
have been gathered about that cross, rev- 
erently watching the child martyr. "O 
good Master, ' ' we can almost hear them 
whisper, ' 'call him soon, and let us bring 
him to You.' The moment came, the 
sweet eyes closed, the head drooped for- 
ward, and the soldier answered to the roll 

call of the King. 

Feast, July twenty-seventh. 

[80] 



Hope, The Little Sister 

TTOPE was the younger sister of Faith, 
A A and was only ten years old when 
she won the martyr's palm by the side of 
the older girl. The child watched her 
sister die, and the hot tears brimmed over 
in her eyes. Her turn would come next, 
and she breathed a prayer to her guardian 
angel. 

At the end of the court room stood a 
great furnace, and a guard was heaping 
fuel on the already blazing fire 

"Ho, man,' ; cried the judge, "here is 
another Christian, throw her to feed the 
flames!" 

The soldier stepped forward and lifted 
the child in his arms. Little Hope, trem- 
bling from head to foot, could only 
whisper over and over again the name of 
Jesus. The furnace door was wide and 

[81] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

she could see the scarlet flames leaping 
within the iron grill. 

6 'Hold, Junius, ' ' the judge commanded. 
Then to the child he continued, "Are 
you afraid of the fire ?" 

"Yes," she answered softly. 

"Well, save yourself," he said. "Bow 
to Jupiter, and you shall be as free this 
instant as the winds that blow." 

Hope clasped her hands. "I am afraid 
of the fire," she replied, "but Jesus will 
help me to bear the pain." 

The judge turned away. ' 'Do your work, 
man, ' ' he commanded. And the guard 
obeyed. 

But God so loved His little martyr that 
He sent His angel to part the flames and 
shield her from their heat. The fire 
circled her form as a glowing frame, and 
with a glad smile of triumph, Hope stood, 
as the judge had said she might, should 
she bow to Jupiter, "free as the winds 
that blow. ' ' 

[82] 



HOPE, THE LITTLE SISTER 

Once more Hope awaited her sentence 
before the judge, and heard the order 
given that she should be beheaded. 

This time Hope was unafraid. Her 
eyes were wet with glad tears, her cheeks 
flushed with eager love. Oh, how she 
longed to see and be near the Master 
Who had so wondrously shown her His 
protection ! 

She knelt down. With one hand she 
held her little cross closer, with the other 
she drew aside her soft hair. 

Another instant and God's angels wel- 
comed her to that fair land where Faith, 
her elder sister, watched in love for her 

coming. 

Feast, August first. 



[83] 



Ignatius, Child of God 

HP HE hill was thronged with people, 
*■ some idly curious, some full of sorrow, 
others brutally thirsting for the sight of 
blood. On the summit, facing the sea 
and bound to stakes, were twenty-two 
priests, awaiting the executioner's torch 
that would blaze their way to heavem 
Near by knelt a group of Christians united 
in prayer that they, too, might stand firm 
in their hour of trial. The hot sun beat 
down pitilessly, and the sea like a mirror 
threw back its torrid rays. 

Suddenly Father Spinola raised his 
head. ''Where is my little Ignatius?" he 
cried. His clear voice rang over the great 
mob and there was an instant's calm. 

A woman who had been kneeling in 
the midst of the group of Christians arose 
and came forward, a little child half hidden 

[84] 



IGNATIUS, CHILD OF GOD 

under her cloak. The boy was dressed as 
for a festival, and his big eyes, though 
grave and wondering, showed no sign of 
fear. 

"See, Father," the good mother said, 
"here is Ignatius." Her voice broke for 
an instant, but she went on bravely. "I 
offer all I have to God, my life and my 
little child." 

The priest smiled, and there was a light 
too radiant for earth in his strong eyes. 
' 'God be with you and give you strength, ' ' 
he said gently. 

The mother turned to the boy. "My 
son," she cried, "look up and see the one 
who made you a child of God by Baptism. 
Go to him, my little Ignatius, and ask 
him to bless you. 

The child obeyed. He loved the priest, 
and all unafraid, even of the great chains 
and the soldie,rs, he knelt at Father Spi- 
nola's feet. 

With his baby hands crossed on his 

[85] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

breast he cried in his childish treble, 
"Bless me, dear Father, ask God to 
bless me." 

The first tears that had come to the 
priest's eyes in years came now, as he 
blessed the little one. His closely bound 
hands bled freely in his effort to make the 
sign of the cross. ' 'Go to your mother, 
he said tenderly, "and be brave for Jesus' 
sake. 

With a bright smile the boy went back 
to his mother's side, and knelt once more 
under the folds of her cloak. 

A wave of something like pity swept 
over the crowd, and the executioners, see- 
ing it, hastened their bloody work. 
With sharpened axes, they came quickly 
toward the group of Christians. There was 
only time for a swift prayer. In a few 
moments four martyrs lay headless on the 
hill. One was the mother of Ignatius. 

The boy closed his eyes and his baby 
lips moved. The priest watched, his 

[86] 



IGNATIUS, CHILD OF GOD 

heart raised in prayer for the frail little 
soul. 

The dark eyes opened and were lifted 
to heaven, and the little arms spread 
wide like a cross. ' 'Jesus," he whispered, 
and the sharp sword fell. 

The baby martyr was with God. 

Feast, Blessed Charles Spinola, S. «7. and Com- 
panions, September eleventh. 



[87] 



Imelda, The First Communicant 

'"T>UT you are too young, my little 

-■-* one, "the priest said gravely. "Wait, 
and perhaps in another year Jesus will 
come to you. ' 

Imelda was silent, but great tears 
welled up in her eyes and rolled all un- 
heeded down her cheeks. A whole year 
before she could make her First Com- 
munion! A long, long year! Without a 
word she turned away and walked slowly 
down the corridor. 

The priest watched, with a gentle smile, 
as the little white robe fluttered through 
the chapel arch, never dreaming how 
heavy a cross he had laid on the child's 
shoulder. 

Although only eleven, Imelda had been 
admitted to the Dominican Order, and 
had already received the white habit of a 

[88] 



IMELDA, THE FIRST COMMUNICANT 

novice. Her love for our dear Lord was 
very deep and tender, and it was her 
greatest joy to spend long hours in His 
sacramental presence. Now in her sor- 
row it was to Him she fled for comfort. 

"Jesus, I want You," she sobbed. "O 
my dearest Lord, I cannot live without 
You." 

A rosy bar of light from the long west- 
ern window touched the slight form ten- 
derly, and the faint, sweet fragrance of 
flowers made the gates of heaven seem 
very near. Slowly the red glow faded, 
and soft, gray twilight enfolded the altar. 
Still the little novice knelt there, her 
habit misty white in the growing gloom. 

Far down the corridor rang out the 
vesper bell, deep, and sweet, and full. 
Then the child moved. Obedience called 
her, and she stood erect, but with bowed 
head, in her appointed place for the divine 
office. 

One by one, the nuns filed into the 

[89] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

chapel. One by one, starry candles pierced 
the darkness, and then the solemn vesper 
chant rose on the peaceful air. 

All that night Imelda tossed restlessly 
on her hard bed, sobbing even in her sleep, 
and waking with the dear name of Jesus 
on her lips. Oh, how she longed for His 
coming! And then like the ceaseless 
moaning of the waves on the shore came 
the thought: not for a long, long year, 
Imelda. 

Early in the morning, she was in her 
place in the chapel, bright-eyed, feverish 
with desire. It was the feast of the 
Ascension, and all the Religious were to 
receive Holy Communion. 

When the bell rang out at the ' 'Domini, 
non sum dignus, ' ' the little novice bowed 
her head low. 

With reverent step the white -robed 
Dominicans passed by her stall, and went 
to the altar rail. She heard the low 
whispered Conflteor of the little server, 

[90] 




Joan of Arc in prison, and Imelda in her cloister, 
though parted by many years, were alike in their 
love for Christ in the Blessed Sacrament." 



IMELDA, THE FIRST COMMUNICANT 

and heard the key turn in the golden 
door. The echo of her dream throbbed 
again in her heart, a year, a long dreary 
year without Jesus. Ah, why could not 
the priest understand ! She was not too 
young to love God, to give her life to 
Him, to listen to His sweet Voice calling 
and bidding her come to Him. It seemed 
to her as though Jesus were standing at 
the closed door of her heart, and knock- 
ing, and she must bid Him, Whom she 
longed to receive, stay without. Was it 
because she was so very sinful ? Her in- 
nocent heart knew not sin, though she 
often wept over the small faults she called 
so wrong. The little frame trembled 
with sorrow. 

The priest turned from the altar, the 
upraised Sacred Host in his hand. Imelda 
lifted her head, and threw out her arms 
with a gesture of love and longing. 

"O Jesus, come," she whispered. 

And Jesus came. Swiftly in a trail of 

[91] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

silver light, hidden under the round white 
Host, He came, and made His home for 
the first time in the soul He loved. 

The child knelt motionless with out- 
stretched arms and parted lips, her heart 
a-quiver with love. 

The joy was too great. Once with 
Jesus, with Him always, was the will of 
God. The little heart, in all its virginal 
purity, was stilled in its very outpour- 
ing of gladness. Stilled to the world, 
but living to Jesus, to rest close to His 
Sacred Heart for all eternity. 

Feast, September sixteenth. 



[92] 



Januarius, The Eldest 

T) EFORE the idol of Mars many wor- 
■*-* shipers were thronged, and the fra- 
grance of incense filled the temple. Above 
the people sat the Emperor Marcus 
Aurelius. On either side stood the guards, 
glittering in the silver armor of Rome. 
All were awaiting a signal, when there 
came the expected blare of trumpets. 

It was the hour of sacrifice. A priest 
of Mars, his scarlet robes half veiled in 
incense, approached the altar of the god. 
All heads were bowed low as he laid the 
victim before the idol, and raised his keen 
blade. There was a moment's silence as 
the knife fell, and the priest bent forward 
to see, it was believed, what answer the 
god would give to the sacrifice. Raising 
the knife, still dripping with blood, he 
cried fiercely: "Death to the Christians! 
Mars is angry!" 

[93] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

The Emperor was startled. He was a 
warrior, and Mars was the god of war. 
If Mars so willed it, the Christians must 
die. He was not naturally a bloodthirsty 
man, but he loved his country and the 
delights of war, and fearing, lest if Mars 
be angry, the enemy would prevail, he 
wished to appease the god. He turned to 
the pagan priests who, with dark faces 
and clenched hands, were waiting his 
word, and gave a prompt order. Immedi- 
ately soldiers and spies left the temple in 
search of Christian victims. All about 
the near country they searched, and not 
in vain. 

Close to the temple lived a noble Roman 
mother, Felicitas, with her seven sons. 
One by one they were captured and 
brought before the Emperor. Bright little 
Felix was one of the number, but the 
eldest was Januarius, and the mother 
leaned on his arm as they entered the 
temple porch. He whispered a word in 

[94] 



JANUARIUS, THE ELDEST 

her ear as they stood before the throne, 
and she smiled bravely into the beauti- 
ful boyish face, so nearly on a level with 
her own. 

Angry looks and scornful words met 
them on every side. Blood was still flow- 
ing from the altar. 

'Felicitas,' spoke the Emperor, ''the 
god is angry that you are a Christian. 
Go to the altar and bow before Mars, 
or you and your sons shall be put to the 
torture." 

The mother smiled a little, and turned 
to her boys. With her arms opened wide, 
as though she would embrace them all, 
she cried earnestly, "My sons, be brave! 
You know that you are all I have. My 
love for you is stronger than my life! 
But I had rather a thousand times see you 
dead than see you stoop to sin. 

She paused, and let her eyes rest on 
each of her sons in turn. All were about 
her, but Januarius was nearest. He 

[95] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

folded her in his arms. "My mother,' 1 
he whispered, ' 'fear not for us. Jesus is 
our King, and in His strength we will 
conquer. 

The Emperor harshly interrupted. 
"What is your answer?" he said. 'Will 
you bow to Mars?" 

Like a trumpet call came the cry "No. ' 

Then sentence fell from the Emperor's 
lips, a sentence cruel as the demon god 
could prompt. Januarius was to be beaten 
to death with loaded whips, and equally 
terrible were the plans announced for 
the punishment of the others. 

As eldest, Januarius desired to be first 
to suffer. Picked soldiers, strong of arm 
and hard of heart, swung stroke after 
stroke on the slight young shoulders. 
His face was turned to the blood-stained 
altar, and it seemed to him, as he fell at 
last, exhausted and dying, that all the 
world was blood red too. 

Believing him to be dead, the soldiers 

[96] 



JANTJARIUS, THE ELDEST 

turned to the others, but death came 
slowly to the strong young heart. A 
crimson path stretched out before him, 
but a Voice of infinite sweetness called 
him to arise and come. 

Was it a dream, or was he lying in his 
own blood, too weak to obey ? Far, far 
away he heard soft strains of music, and 
the sweet Voice called again. 

With a wonderful effort, he half raised 
himself from the ground. "I am coming, 
my Jesus, ' ' his dying lips whispered— then 
he fell back. The red path of martyrdom 
faded away. The boy had conquered in 

the strength of Jesus his King. 

Feast, July tenth. 



[97] 



Julia, The Slave. 

"TVTOW, slave, about your work— come 
*■ ^ to me at sundown. ' He turned 
his head with lazy curiosity as the white- 
robed figure passed swiftly under the vine- 
hung arch on her way to the servants' 
quarters. So she was a Christian! How 
proudly she had confessed it, and what a 
light had come into her eyes ! 

He had bought her only a few weeks 
past from a Vandal slave dealer, who had 
captured many a maiden of high rank 
during the burning of Carthage. While 
waiting for the auction Eusebius had 
noted in the midst of the group a slight, 
dark- haired girl, who had one arm about 
the shoulders of a weeping child. Her 
noble bearing and pure face had attract- 
ed him at once, and he had eagerly paid 

[98] 



JULIA, THE SLAVE 

the price demanded, and brought her to 
his home. 

And now for over a month Julia had 
been a slave. She was so docile and pa- 
tient, whether in the kitchen or in her 
master's presence, that every one loved 
her. 

Now, as she reached the servants' quar- 
ters, her heart beat with a strange, insist- 
ent gladness. She was a Christian and 
Eusebius knew it. Perhaps martyrdom 
was near at hand. She paused on the 
threshold of the squalid cabin. From 
within came the sound of noisy laughter, 
coarse oaths,— and worse; but the girl 
scarcely heard. The wind stirred her 
white robe, and touched her dark hair as 
in a caress. Her eyes were starry with 
happiness, and a delicate color bloomed in 
her cheeks. 

"For You, my Jesus, for You," she 
whispered, and stepped within the cabin. 
She was too true, too pure for sin to stay, 

[99] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

and the evil noises ceased as the slaves 
crowded about her. 

All that day and for many days Julia 
longed for the summons to death that 
never came. She was too valuable in her 
master's sight. 

Some months later, with several other 
slaves, she was commanded to go with 
Eusebius on a trip to Corsica, where pub- 
lic feasts were to be held in honor of a 
great idol. When the island was reached, 
Julia begged to be allowed to remain on 
shipboard, and Eusebius consented. 

Alone, on the deck, her thoughts turned 
to God. The wild songs and laughter of 
the feast on the shore were borne to her 
over the water, but her prayer dulled their 
sound. "How long, O Lord, how long?" 
was the half tremulous cry on her lips. 
"When may I come to You,— call me, bid 
me hasten,— if it be Your Will. ' 

Slowly, she walked up and down along 
the far side of the ship. Here the sounds 

[100] 



JULIA, THE SLAVE 

of merry-making were less distinct, and the 
soft lapping of the waves quieted her, as 
a mother's lullaby would soothe a restless 
child. 

Suddenly she was startled by a noisy 
blast blown on a horn. It was the hour 
for the sacrifice to the idol. The revels 
grew wilder, and Julia shuddered as she 
looked on them. 

When they were ended, Felix, the gov- 
ernor, asked to be shown over the ship. 
When he saw Julia he admired her, but 
on learning that she was a Christian 
grew very angry. She was dragged to 
the island and condemned to be crucified. 

Julia smiled when she heard her sen- 
tence. The hour had come at last. A 
rough cross was quickly fashioned and the 
girl's form was made fast to it. Julia's 
eyes closed to the dark faces about her. 
Heaven was so near, only a little while 
and she would be with God. 

The time was swift in passing and the 

[101] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

sweet girl martyr was slave no longer to 
the master of earth, but bound by links 
of eternal love to the divine Master in 

heaven. 

Feast, May twenty-third. 



[102] 



Kenelm, The Boy King 

rpHE boy king sat on his throne, his 
A eyes big with wonder. He was a 
very little king, only seven years old, and 
he could not understand why every one, 
even his grown up sister, Quindrede, 
bowed low before him. 

Only a little while ago, his father had 
been king, and then his father had died, 
and he had known his first great sadness. 
A lump rose in his boyish throat as he 
thought of the grave out under the trees 
where he had seen them lay his father's 
body. And now he was the king. 

That morning the old priest who lived 
at the palace had told him what being 
king meant, and when he had heard all, 
they had gone together into the great 
chapel to beg the help of the King of 
kings. 

[103] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

The place was dark and gloomy. The 
windows were of stained glass, and the 
hangings of deep red, only the ruby glow 
of the sanctuary lamp shed light and 
comfort as a little star. The altar rested 
within its tender radiance, and the golden 
door with its parted curtain shone softly 
in the gloom. 

Kenelm's eyes were wet with tears, and 
his lips quivering, but at the thought of 
the dear King who held His court with 
His Blessed Mother so near, and Who 
was always ready to give help and com- 
fort, a smile forced itself to his lips. 

"Dear Jesus,' he whispered, "I will 
try to be a good king. Help me to learn 
all I ought to know. ' ' 

Poor little lad, he was old before his 
time, and all the gracious joy of childhood 
seemed to have passed him by. 

Then came the coronation. The gold 
crown was placed on his head, and he re- 
ceived a king's anointing, and now he 

[104] 



KENELM, THE BOY KING 

was given, for the first time, the homage 
of his people. 

He did not want to be a king. He sat 
listlessly on his father's throne, clothed 
in stiff brocade, and longed for the fields, 
and the merry stream in the woods, and 
the songs of the birds he loved. Then he 
remembered that quiet hour in the chapel, 
when he had promised God that he would 
be a good king. He straightened his little 
shoulders with a sudden movement of de- 
cision and his childish lips grew firm. 
He turned to the priest by his side. "I 
had almost forgotten my promise," he 
whispered. ' Tt is so hard to be a king !' ' 

The long ceremony ended at last, and 
Kenelm was free. He ran at once to his 
sister's arms to be comforted. 

The months wore slowly on. The little 
king must spend long hours with his 
tutor, Ascobert, before he might spend 
longer, sweeter hours with the priest, who 
was friend, counselor and father. 

[105] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

The priest and the child rambled in the 
woods together and talked of the great 
God Who had created all the beauty they 
so enjoyed, for love of them. 

The summer passed, and the fall, and 
the cold winter days set in, when the snow 
lay deep over the fields of England. One 
morning when Kenelm had gone out as 
usual for his walk he did not return. 
Noon passed, the short afternoon faded 
into dark. Still he came not and there 
was no word from him. The old priest 
searched in vain for the little lad. Only 
an occasional footprint, half hidden by 
the drifting snow, showed that he had 
passed that way. 

Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant 
light ahead of them between the blowing 
branches. 

A quiet boyish form lay in its radiance, 
white as the snow about it. The priest 
sprang forward and folded the lad in his 
arms. The little heart was still. The 

[106] 

Y 



KENELM, THE BOY KING 

baby king was with God. A cruel hand 
had taken his life, and Mercia mourned 
her boy ruler. 

Deep in the snowy woods, near the spot 
where the body was found, was a rocky 
well. 

God gifted its waters with healing power, 
as a token of His love for His little Saint. 

At a touch of its clear, cold stream 
health was restored to the sick and sight 
to the blind. It was known as Saint 
Kenelm's Well, and even today, after 
the lapse of centuries, the spot is dear 

to the heart of Catholic England. 

Feast, July seventh. 



[107] 



Katherine, The Philosopher 

TT was Christmas night, hundreds of 
*■■ years ago. 

Katherine, a little maiden of pagan 
Alexandria, tossed restlessly in her sleep. 
It seemed to her that she was drifting far 
away, and that dark clouds were all about 
her. There was no one near to give her 
help. Swiftly, yet more swiftly, she felt 
herself borne along, and the darkness and 
the silence grew deeper. 

Suddenly there was a rift in the clouds, 
and she could see the stars shining. 
Faint, sweet music touched the night air 
like a caress, and the girl felt herself 
sinking slowly towards the earth. Before 
her in the hills nestled a tiny cave. A 
rough gate barred the entrance, but 
through it the cold wind swept pitilessly. 

[108] 



KATHERINE, THE PHILOSOPHER 

The frost-covered ground glistened like 
silver in the starlight. 

Within the cave stood a Mother with a 
Child in her arms. A glory shone about 
them, and the face of the Infant was so 
fair, so divine, that Katherine fell on her 
knees. The little arms were outstretched 
to embrace her, then the Child turned 
away in sorrow. 

"I cannot come to thee, for thou art 
not mine,' a sweet voice whispered. 
"Katherine, learn of Me." 

The cave faded away, the angels' voices 
ceased, and Katherine awoke with the 
cry on her lips, "Who art Thou, Lord?" 

Her prayer rang out in the silent night, 
and Jesus heard. 

In His own sweet way He taught her of 
Himself. Soon she was made His child 
forever by baptism. 

Then on another wondrous night, the 
vision returned. Once more she knelt at 
the feet of Mary the Mother. This time 

[109] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

the Child Jesus smiled on the pure face 
upturned so longingly to His own. He 
placed a ring on her finger, and she heard 
His sweet voice proclaim, "Katherine, 
thou art Mine." 

Now Maximian, the pagan Emperor, 
who held his court at Alexandria, heard 
of Katherine and her wonderful beauty. 
He summoned her to appear before him. 
The girl obeyed. 

She was received with royal magnifi- 
cence. Gorgeous colors hung from the 
walls, rare jewels adorned Maximian' s 
throne and flashed from his scepter and 
crown. Katherine 's eyes were cast down, 
her hands loosely clasped before her. 
Her long hair fell softly over her shoulders, 
nearly touching the hem of her white 
cloak. She wore no jewels, but her 
pure face shone with a beauty fairer than 
any earth could give. 

"Art thou a Christian?" asked the 
amazed Emperor. 

[110] 




' Then gravely, she questioned them. But they 
had no answer for the wisdom of Jesus Christ. " 



KATHERINE, THE PHILOSOPHER 

"I am a Christian," Katherine an- 
swered simply. 

Unwilling at once to condemn her to 
torture, the Emperor commanded his most 
learned philosophers to argue with her. 
One after another they came into the 
court, bowed to the Emperor, and un- 
rolled their sheets of papyrus. Deeply 
learned were they in the wisdom of the 
gods, and they frowned severely at the 
girlish defender of the Faith. Firmly 
she answered the questions they put to 
her, and in her own turn, with calm sim- 
plicity, questioned them. Vainly they 
turned to their papyrus rolls for an an- 
swer. Their false gods had no reply to 
give to the wisdom of Jesus Christ. 

In the end they yielded. 'We too be- 
lieve in Christ, the Lord, ' ' they cried ex- 
ultantly. "He alone is Eternal Truth.' 
Suffering and death they knew awaited 
them, but a philosopher feared not death. 
Wrapping their mantles about them, they 

[in] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

once again bowed to the Emperor and 
nobly confessed their belief in the God 
they had only just learned to love. 

Katherine watched them, her eyes alight 
with a strange joy. Then with a courage 
only equaled by her holiness, heard her 
own sentence. She was condemned to 
be broken on a huge spiked wheel. 

She was bound hand and foot with 
heavy cords. Then suddenly the wheel 
flew into a thousand pieces, and Kath- 
erine stood erect and unhurt. Oh, what 
alight filled her eyes, and how joyous her 
mien as she again faced the Emperor ! 

Death came at last by the sword, with 
scarcely an instant of pain, and the girlish 
philosopher led her converts to the throne 

of God. 

Feast, November twenty-fifth. 



[112] 



Louis, Little Martyr of Japan 

TT was a strange little school -room of 
A Japan, all latticed and open to the even- 
ing breeze, with no desks, nor chairs, nor 
blackboards, nor teacher's table. Three 
little lads sat cross -legged on the bare floor, 
their dark heads bent low over a highly 
colored picture of the Crucifixion. The 
priest sitting on the bamboo doorstep had 
just told them the world-old, yet ever new, 
story of the death of Jesus, and now a 
quiet had fallen over teacher and pupils. 

Before them lay a hill, its brown sum- 
mit in strange contrast to the green fields 
and nodding flowers about its base. In 
the gray shadows of coming night, the 
hill had but one suggestion to each of 
them,— Calvary, where Jesus had died. 
Half dreamily they pictured the throngs 

[113] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

of people, and high against the dark 
clouds the three crosses. 

"Oh, Father," whispered Louis, "if we 
only might die for Jesus as He died for us. ' ' 

The priest smiled gravely. "Perhaps 
you may, ' ' he answered. ' 'The Mikado is 
angry with us even now. It would take 
but a little provocation to make him put 
us all to death. ' ' 

The boy's dark eyes flashed and he 
threw open his arms. Looking toward 
the bare little hill, he cried, "I love God 
so, but I have known about Him such a 
little while ! Would it be too big a prayer 
to ask that I might die on a cross for 
Him ? I know I am not good enough to 
ask so much, but if you ask it too, Father, 
He may listen to us." The eager voice 
sunk to a pleading whisper, and as he 
ended, he fell to his knees at the priest's 
side. 

A great joy flashed in the missionary's 
face. "We will ask God together, little 

[114] 



LOUIS, LITTLE MARTYR OF JAPAN 

children," he said. And when, on the 
following morning, he raised the white 
Host aloft, a prayer went up from their 
hearts in unison, that if persecution came, 
they might die by crucifixion. 

They were merry, natural lads, these 
boys in far Japan, not at all "Goody 
goody. ' ! At play, their laugh rang out 
freely, and their muscles were hard and 
firm from long training and much exercise. 
To see them race against the wind, their 
eyes flashing, their cheeks glowing, every 
nerve bent on winning, one would never 
dream they ever thought of anything 
more serious. 

But even their play was offered as a 
prayer, and it was all the merrier for the 
offering. At daybreak each morning, as 
they served the missionary's Mass, all the 
day, with its work and fun, was given to 
Christ the King. 

Strange rumors began to be spread about 
against the Christians, and the boyish 

[115] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

prayers grew more earnest. For the last 
time Louis rang the altar bell, and for 
the last time, though they knew it not, 
they received our dear Lord in Holy 
Communion. 

Scarcely had Mass ended when a band 
of Japanese soldiers tore down the frail 
bamboo wall, and bound the priest and 
his comrades, to bring them before the 
Mikado. 

As the gray light deepened at the close 
of that long day of trial, they were con- 
demned to be crucified on the little bare 
hill they had seen from their school -room 
door. Quickly the crosses were prepared, 
and with more of gladness than of sorrow, 
the lads held the rough wood to their 
breasts. ' 'Jesus listened,— Jesus heard, ' 
they cried joyously. 

With a last blessing for the lads he loved 
so dearly, the priest gave his life for God. 
Then through the sharp hours of pain, 
Louis, Thomas and Anthony encouraged 

[116] 



LOUIS, LITTLE MARTYR OF JAPAN 

each other, by repeating aloud the prayers 
the priest had taught them. One by one, 
the soldiers left the hill,— and at last in 
the still, cool twilight God called His little 
martyrs to Himself. 

Feast, Martyrs of Japan, February ninth. 



[117] 



Lucy, The Devoted Daughter 

'""pHE silver gloom of a Roman twi- 
■■■ light was settling over the snow-clad 
hill, and the wind had blown the flakes 
into drifts to hide the path. One arm 
about her mother, who seemed too frail 
for the weary climb, a girl of fourteen 
was making her way slowly toward the 
summit. Outlined against the gray skies 
above them, stood the white tomb of 
Saint Agatha. 

Even as a little child, Lucy had loved 
Agatha's story, and had prayed that she too 
might one day die for Jesus' sake. Now 
for long years her mother had been ill, 
and doctors had been unable to cure her. 

Lucy had thought of the girl saint. 
Would not Jesus listen to her prayer, 
since she had died for Him? With new 
hope in their hearts, the girl and her mo- 

[118] 



LUCY, THE DEVOTED DAUGHTER 

ther had set out for Saint Agatha's tomb, 
there to plead for health. 

The mother's face was lined with pain, 
yet she smiled when the girl turned to her 
with a word of love or merry little jest. 
"It is not far now, my mother, " Lucy 
cried; "see, there it lies above us, half 
buried in the snow." The child's eyes, 
gentle and meek as those of a dove, were 
lifted in confidence to the shaft of gray 
stone gleaming through the bare trees, 
and her courage inspired the poor mother 
to a last strong effort. Following her 
daughter's gaze, she looked up the steep 
ascent, trying to forget the rugged, toil- 
some way, in the hope that the little 
tomb seemed to promise. A few moments, 
and perhaps the pain of a lifetime would 
be forgotten. 

1 T see it, child," she answered "with 
God's help we will reach it before night- 
fall." 

With fresh courage they pressed on, 

[119] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

and weary, but full of joy, reached the 
little tomb. 

The snow fell more softly now, and the 
wind had died away. A strange peace 
seemed to hover over the white-robed 
earth. Near to the tomb was a tumbled 
hut, and within its poor walls the mother 
and daughter sought a little rest. As 
Lucy slept, her head pillowed against the 
rough boards, in a dream she saw Saint 
Agatha. The martyr's robe was shining 
like the starlight, and her arms were out- 
stretched in joyous welcome. "Lucy, 
my sister, ' ' she whispered, ' 'your mother 
will be cured. ' ' 

Even in her sleep Lucy felt the happi- 
ness that surged through her soul at that 
glad message, but her heart almost ceased 
beating as Agatha stooped and gathered 
her in her arms. A wave of longing to 
be with God swept over her,— a stronger, 
purer love for Him than she had ever felt 
before. 

[ 120] 



LUCY, THE DEVOTED DAUGHTER 

''Little sister,' 1 Agatha said, and her 
voice was triumphant with gladness, 
"Jesus has heard your prayer. The 
crown of martyrdom shall be yours. ' ' 

"Thank God, thank God," Lucy sob- 
bed, and with that sweet cry on her lips, 
awoke to find her mother standing before 
her in the morning sunlight, cured of her 
infirmity. 

The days that followed were joyous 
ones for Lucy. All that she had she 
gave to the poor, and over and over again 
promised the dear Lord to live for Him 
alone until she might lay her life in sacri- 
fice at His feet. 

The time was not far distant. A per- 
secution of the Christians was even then 
raging, and soon Lucy was brought to the 
prefect. She was condemned to be burned 
alive, but when she was cast into the 
flames God saved her from the heat. 
Then it was ordered that her heart should 
be pierced with a sword. And so, on the 

[121] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

thirteenth of December, soon after the 
vision at the tomb of Agatha, her soul 

sped forth to God. 

Feast, December thirteenth. 



[122] 



Maximian, The Sleeper 

~\ECIUS, the pagan Emperor, was 
■■-^ holding court in pomp and power. 
Out of hatred for the Christians, he had 
decreed that all who loved the dear Lord 
Whom we adore should die. 

It was in the year 250 in the city of 
Ephesus. 

The persecution had but begun when 
seven boys were brought before the tyrant. 
Proudly they confessed that they were 
Christians. Angered by their daring, 
Decius ordered that they should be buried 
alive in a cave near the city walls. 

The boys heard their sentence without 
a sign of fear. Maximian turned to the 
others with a smile on his lips. "Let us 
not think of it as a burial, but as a long, 
sweet sleep in Christ, ' ' he said. 

' Tt is not so much a sleep as a battle in 

[123] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

darkness," answered Melchus. "But the 
King of Armies will be our strength. ' ! 

Surrounded by guards, they were led to 
the cave. It was a weary journey, over 
roads that lay white and dusty under the 
noonday sun. To the boys it must have 
seemed a march of triumph, so free was 
their carriage and so light their step. 

It was nearly sundown when the en- 
trance to the cave was reached. First, the 
soldiers of Decius entered to see that no 
way of escape was possible. When they 
came out, stern men though they were, 
their faces were blanched at the thought 
of such a death. The boys stood a little 
apart, very quiet, but still brave and sturdy 
of heart. 

Behind the green hills of Ephesus, the 
sun was sinking to rest. The fields lay 
bathed in the soft, rosy afterglow, and the 
earth in all its fairness called to the boys 
in a powerful appeal. They were young 
and strong, and life was full of promise. 

[ 124] 



MAXIMIAN, THE SLEEPER 

Maximian raised his right hand and 
made the sign of the Cross. His com- 
panions started, brought to a quick reali- 
zation of their danger. Ah, yes, the 
world was fair, but heaven was fairer 
still. 

As with one accord, they turned away 
from the cool, sweet fields and bowed 
their heads before the dreary cave. With 
steps that never faltered, they passed 
through the low entrance as true soldiers 
of a crucified King. The great stone was 
rolled to the door and sealed. The guards 
went their way. 

Who could tell of the weary hours be- 
fore death came ! Perhaps God sent His 
angels to awaken sweet echoes out of the 
still darkness; perhaps He let the boys 
suffer seemingly alone, for a little time, that 
they might win a nearer place to Him in 
heaven. What happened we do not 
know, save that at length the long, sweet 
sleep of Christ, of which Maximian had 

[125] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

so bravely spoken, touched their tired 
eyes. 

Over two hundred years later, in the 
reign of Theodosius the Younger, the 
cave was discovered and opened, and the 
relics of the seven boy martyrs found 
there. On account of the peculiar man- 
ner of their death, their names have come 
down to us as ' 'The Seven Holy Sleepers, 
and it is under this title that we best 

know them. 

Feast, July twenty-seventh. 



[126] 



Martina, The Beautiful 

ly/TARTINA was but thirteen years old 
*■*■*• when her beauty, wealth and learning 
attracted many suitors. All unconscious 
of her charm, and in child-like wonder at 
their admiration, she gently refused all 
that they would gladly have laid at her 
feet. With her big blue eyes full of a 
love they could not understand, she would 
repeat softly, "I am promised to Jesus, 
my heart is given to Him." 

At last the Emperor himself summoned 
her to appear before him. With the 
sweet simplicity of one who never thinks 
of self she obeyed. 

To know Martina was to love her. 
The Emperor felt her gentle charm as 
had the others. 

"Art thou a Christian?" he asked. 

With a look of rapt love the child lifted 

[127] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

her head, and, as though speaking to One 
unseen, answered joyously, "I am.' 

' 'Ah, that is because thou hast not seen 
the gods that we adore,' said the Em- 
peror. ' 'Wilt thou come with me to the 
temple of sacrifice and see how wondrous 
they are?" 

Martina paused a moment, her head 
bent, as though she were listening to that 
dear One in Whose almost visible presence 
she stood. Then she smiled a little, and 
answered, "I will go with you to the 
temple and see your gods. 

Then the Emperor placed her beside 
him in his own chariot, and, accompanied 
by a long procession of pagan priests, 
courtiers and slaves, they made their way 
to the place of sacrifice. Several Chris- 
tians joined the throng, anxious for Mar- 
tina's safety, and wondering at her strange 
journey. 

They reached the temple. The Em- 
peror escorted the little maid within, 

[128] 



MARTINA, THE BEAUTIFUL 

amidst a blare of trumpets and clash of 
cymbals, as the hour of sacrifice was 
announced. Before the approach of the 
priests, the Emperor signaled for quiet. 
Then he turned to the child by his side, and 
said in his gentlest tones, "Martina, thou 
seest the god we adore; do thou kneel be- 
fore it and swing the censer in adoration. 
Else"— he paused, and a stern ring crept 
into his voice — "thou shalt die.'' 

Martina took two steps forward, and 
with her hands crossed on her breast and 
her eyes downcast knelt before the 
huge idol. The few Christians present 
held their breath in fear. Was Martina 
going to give up Christ ? The Emperor 
smiled triumphantly, thinking he had 
won an easy victory. 

Suddenly, the girl arose and made the 
sign of the Cross toward the pagan altar 
and enormous idol. There was a crash and 
a wild flurry of falling stone. The idol 
lay in pieces at her feet, but the little 

[129] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

maid scarcely saw it. Her eyes were 
uplifted to the blue skies, visible through 
the open roof of the temple. Her white 
robe gleamed whiter in the midst of the 
broken gray stone, and the sunlight shed 
about her a cloak of shimmering gold. 

Furiously the Emperor demanded 
"Why hast thou done this thing?" 

Gently the girlish voice answered, "Be- 
cause Christ alone is God. ' ' 

The Emperor's cry of anger was echoed 
by that of the pagan priests. "Martina 
must die. Away with her. 

Forth from the gray ruins the child 
was dragged. She knew she was going 
to a death of cruelty, but there was only 
gladness in her pure young heart. Mar- 
tyrdom meant a gateway to God, and 
then rest— close to His Sacred Heart. 

Near the arch of Aurelius, kneeling in 
the dust of the roadside, Martina won her 
crown by the executioner's sword. As 
fair as a lily, and as pure, she offered her 

[130] 



MARTINA, THE BEAUTIFUL 

heart and her life to God. A moment 
she knelt motionless before the great 
sword fell, with that same eager look on 
her face. Then, with the name of Jesus 
on her lips, she bowed her head for the 
stroke. 

A moment later her snowy robe was 
dyed with the roses of martyrdom, and 
another virgin soul stood in the radiance 
of God's great White Throne. 

Feast, January tenth. 



[131] 



Nomen, The Nameless One 

TN the year 320, a legion of Roman sol- 
* diers was quartered in the little town 
of Sebaste in Armenia, waiting orders 
from the Emperor. The barracks stood 
at the northern end of the town, and at 
the gate had been erected an idol, be- 
fore which the soldiers were commanded 
to burn incense daily. In the legion were 
forty young Christians, who steadily re- 
fused to obey the imperial order. 

Word of their disobedience was sent to 
the Emperor. He commanded that all 
who refused to sacrifice should die. 

A day was appointed for the test, and 
at the word of the centurion the men 
formed in a hollow square about the 
idol. The Emperor's decree was read, 
and the soldiers of the legion were com- 

[132] 



NOMEN, THE NAMELESS ONE 

manded to step forward and swing the 
golden censer before the god of the realm. 

One by one the pagan soldiers bowed 
in homage. Then there was a pause. 
The first of the Christian soldiers heard 
his name called, and stepped from the 
ranks. 

His answer was quiet but firm, "I can- 
not offer sacrifice to an idol made by 
man. ' ' 

He was instantly condemned to death, 
and with him thirty- nine others, who, 
Christians like himself, refused the ado- 
ration asked of them. 

It was midwinter. Hoping that slow 
torture might weaken their courage, the 
Christians were exposed to the icy wind 
on a frozen pond. The sun sank behind 
the hills, and the bitter blasts swept 
coldly over the waters. In places the ice 
broke under the weight of the martyrs' 
bodies, and they sank knee and waist 
deep into the pond. 

[133] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

One of them, a mere boy, Nomen, cried 
out to the others, "Courage, comrades! 
Forty we have come to combat, and forty 
we must be crowned." 

"O God, be our strength," the others 
made answer. 

The stars glittered coldly, high above 
them, and silence fell, broken only by the 
footsteps of the guard. The quiet became 
so deep that half unconsciously he stood 
at rest, so as not to intrude the echo of 
his footsteps on that sacred hush. 

An instant later, he saw, afar off in the 
midnight skies, a silver trail. Brighter 
it grew, and before his astonished gaze 
there swept a long, fair line of angels, each 
bearing a crown. Awe -stricken, the pa- 
gan soldier fell to his knees. As he gained 
courage to look again, he saw that one 
angel bore no crown, and in a moment he 
knew the reason. 

A cry rang out from the icy waters, ' 'I 
give up Christ, I cannot bear the pain. ' ' 

[ 134 ] 



NOMEN, THE NAMELESS ONE 

A soldier was drawn from the pond and 
carried to a warm bath. But life was too 
nearly gone, and he died in his sin. 

Watching in silence, his heart softened 
by the vision of the angels, and flooded by 
grace from the great King, the guard flung 
off his cloak and plunged into the stream. 
"I too wish to be a Christian," he cried. 
"I give my life for Christ's sake.' : 

A low murmur of joy surged from the 
freezing lips of the martyrs. "Our num- 
ber is complete, ' ' Nomen whispered. 

Morning broke at last, and found all 
dead, save Nomen, who, younger and 
stronger than his comrades, had longer en- 
dured the bitter cold. 

When the officers came to carry away 
the dead they felt his heart still beating. 
They would have attempted to restore 
him to life, in the hope that he might now 
offer sacrifice, but among the women 
who stood near was the mother of the 
boy. Knowing their intention and fear- 

[135] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

ing lest her son be yet separated from the 
glorious band, she lifted him gently in 
her arms, and bore him to the cart where 
the dead bodies were resting. 

He opened his eyes and smiled on her, 
and a moment later the last of the forty 
martyrs was with the King. 

The boy's real name is known only to 
God. So I have called him Nomen, which 
means but a name, any name. Perhaps 
God Himself will reveal his true name, 
one day, when we stand with the martyrs 
before His eternal throne. 

Feast, March tenth. 



[136] 



Nunilo, Maid of Spain 

TN the quaint old city of Castile lived 
-■• two fair young sisters. From child- 
hood, Nunilo and Aledia had striven to 
show their love for God by sweet charity 
to His poor and afflicted. They were 
sunny little maidens, with smiling lips, 
and deep, happy eyes, that seemed to re- 
flect the love of God hidden in their 
hearts. 

And yet their surroundings were not 
happy. The mother was a Christian, 
their father a Mohammedan, who showed 
his hatred for Christianity by ill-treating 
his daughters. In every daily trial, 
Nunilo and Aledia turned to Calvary, 
and at the foot of His Cross there found 
a solace for all pain. 

A persecution against the Christians 
was brought on by the Saracens, and the 

[137] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

two young girls, distinguished by their 
piety, wealth, and high birth, were among 
the first to suffer. 

They were led through the old streets 
of Castile under a strong guard, and were 
followed by a furious mob. The girls 
were not only unafraid, but even radiant, 
in the promise of coming martyrdom. 
Brought before the court, they were told 
that riches and favors without number 
would be theirs if they would but deny 
Christ. They steadily refused. 

Robed in white, their arms closely 
linked, and their foreheads crowned with 
the fair, pale blossoms they had only that 
morning gathered, they made a picture 
that might have touched a stern heart. 
But angered by their firmness, the judge 
gave them into the hands of a wicked 
woman, who tried to destroy their purity 
of soul. Jesus loved and protected His 
own, and they came forth but sweeter 
and holier for their trial. 

[138] 



NUNILO, MAID OF SPAIN 

On the twenty-second of October, the 
girls were kneeling in prayer in their nar- 
row prison cell. The day was dying, and 
through their one little barred window 
they could see the flush of late twilight 
fading beyond the hills. Soon they would 
pass over the heights of time, beyond the 
fading twilight, and into that fair country 
where "The Lamb is the Lamp thereof." 

Steps sounded down the rough flag- 
stones, and a soldier came into the cell. 
In his hand he bore a sword that had 
been made holy by the blood of many of 
Christ's chosen ones. 

A short prayer, a last embrace, and 
Nunilo and Aledia bowed their heads for 
the stroke. Only a moment of separation, 
and they were united forever, their hap- 
piness blessed by God Himself. 

Feast, October twenty- second. 



[139] 



Omnes Martyres 

T T was the year 477, in the old city of 
* Carthage. Huneric, the Vandal Em- 
peror, had recently ascended the throne of 
his father, Genseric. The laws against 
the Christians had been severe, but in the 
first few years of his reign the new Em» 
peror was lenient toward Christianity. 

Up to this time, the Christians had been 
forced to hear Mass in poor stables or 
underground caves, sometimes even in a 
cove left dry by the outgoing tide where 
the hymn of the waves and the prayers of 
the faithful ascended in praise together. 
Again, the Holy Sacrifice had been offered 
in the home of a noble proconsul, a Chris- 
tian. But whether in the cove by the 
sea or in the consul's marble halls, it was 
the same dear Lord that was present. 

And now, for the first time, the Chris- 
tians were free. The little caves, so often 

[140] 



OMNES MARTYRES 

reddened with the blood of martyrs, were 
abandoned, and chapels, small, but as 
beautiful as love could make them, were 
built in the midst of the city. Gladly did 
those who had wealth give of their abun- 
dance, and even the little children did their 
share in the giving. Gardens were stripped 
of their fairest flowers, and loving little 
hands decorated the white altar, where 
the King might now be honored openly. 
The golden dove, whose hollow breast held 
the Christ in His sacramental presence, 
was hung in a very garden of rosy lights, 
little votive lamps, whose flames seemed 
prayers of flery, impetuous love. 

Twelve little children, boys and girls, 
companions in a Christian school near 
one of the chapels, made the care of the 
altar especially their own. How their 
hands trembled as they approached that 
little hanging dove which concealed Our 
Lord as truly as the golden door on our 
altars conceals Him now ! 

[141] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Half in fear of coming danger, as were 
all in those days, even in their new lib- 
erty, the little ones were taught to be pre- 
pared, should the persecution be renewed. 
Each morning, when they received our 
Lord in Holy Communion, they asked 
Him for grace so to love Him, that they 
would be willing to suffer torture, even 
death, rather than deny Him. Not that 
they were sad or long -faced. Their love 
for God made them so happy, that they 
were the merriest at play and the bright- 
est at home. 

For three short years, there was peace, 
and through those years, those who were 
older and knew the danger of the times, 
prepared themselves and their loved ones 
for possible danger. 

In the year 480 the blow fell. Christian 
worship was forbidden under pain of death, 
and back to their caves the Christians fled. 

The twelve little children, lovers of our 
Lord, were brought to the court one day. 

[ 142 ] 



OMNES MARTYRES 

Wholly afraid, yet full of earnest love, 
they clung to each other. No strong 
teacher was there now, to counsel them to 
repeat the prayers they had learned at 
Jesus' Feet, but their angels did what 
human loved ones would have done, and 
whispered comfort and courage into the 
noble hearts. 

Bravely they looked beyond the guards, 
beyond the damp stone walls, beyond the 
pale sunlight without, as though they did 
not see them. Before them gleamed the 
pearly gate which, Saint John tells us, 
leads to heaven, and at the gate Jesus 
was waiting. 

To the questions of the judge their 
answers rang out with childlike sweetness, 
and no threat of torture could make them 
give up Christ. They were condemned 
to be beaten to death, not in one ter- 
rible hour of torture, but little by little, 
day after day, that they might grow weak 
in their love for God. 

[143] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Far from weakening, these sturdy little 
ones encouraged each other as the slow 
days dragged by. They were only chil- 
dren, and it was so hard to be silent un- 
der the heavy, leaded whips, when the 
old bruises were opened again and the 
blood ran! It was harder still when the 
long night came, and there was no soft 
bed, but only the rough prison floor 
for their poor, torn limbs. The eldest was 
perhaps twelve, it may be even younger, 
yet not a complaint came from their lips. 

One by one, the children gave their lives 
for Jesus, one by one they were folded in 
His arms, until all were before Him, 
not in trembling awe, as in the little 
chapel, but in wonderful love, close to His 
Sacred Heart, as were the little ones who 
came to Him by the lake of Galilee, in 

the days when He walked on earth. 

Feast Day. 



[144] 



Pancratius, Boy Martyr 

""VTAY, it is too heavy for thee to lift. 

^ Shall I not share thy work for the 
Lord?" 

The old man smiled into the boyish face. 
"Long hast thou shared my labor, Pan- 
cratius, and soon shalt thou share my 
reward. ' ' 

The boy paused an instant, and grew 
suddenly grave. "Pray that the time 
may be soon, dear friend, ' : he said. Ca- 
talus lifted a manacled hand, and pushing 
back the boy's damp curls, traced a cross 
on his forehead. "I shall pray," he said. 

For some months, the brave lad, the 
only son of Lucina, one of the noblest 
matrons of Rome, had been working in 
the stone quarries, helping those Chris- 
tians who were condemned to toil there. 

[145] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Catalus was old and feeble, but he bent 
to his work, day after day, with courage. 
For was he not in the Master's vineyard, 
and his day of suffering nearly done? 
Soon the Voice of God would call him. 
Ah, then indeed would the "Burden of 
the day and its heats" be as nothing. 
A strange friendship had sprung up be- 
tween the old man and Pancratius, and 
each spurred on the other to nobler work, 
for Christ's sake. 

A few days later, and the dream of the 
boy's heart came true. He was to die a 
martyr's death. A brief confinement in 
the dungeons of the Mamertine, and he 
was condemned to be exposed to the wild 
beasts in the Coliseum. 

The morning of the conflict broke clear 
and smiling, and the tiers of seats were 
crowded with eager spectators. The boy, 
erect and joyous, came forth from the gate. 
The guards fell back and he was alone. 

There was no sign of fear, no shrinking, 

[146] 




Alone in the great Coliseum, while the cages of 
wild beasts were being drawn up from their 
keeps." 



PANCRATIUS, BOY MARTYR 

in that lithe, young form. The white 
tunic, his martyr- robe, fell in wind-blown 
folds about him. His face was flushed, 
his lips smiling. 

A grating noise from the keep of the 
arena told those familiar with these 
scenes of death that the hour had come. 

Slowly the cages were drawn up, and 
two lions, lean from starvation, bounded 
to the red sands. The boy stood motion- 
less. With a roar that thrilled every heart 
the great beasts made for their prey. The 
spectators leaned forward. 

On came the lions, with red tongues 
hanging, thirsting for blood. They were 
almost at the boy's side when suddenly 
as though they had come upon a stone 
wall, they stopped short and crouched 
at the martyr's feet. Pancratius awoke 
as if from a trance, and rested one hand 
on the magnificent head of the nearest 
beast. 

A cry rang out from the Emperor's 

[147] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

pavilion, "A fraud, a fraud,— provoke 
them, you coward!" 

In instant obedience the boy waved his 
arms and tried to excite them. But they 
fled at his approach, in very fear. A mur- 
mur of admiration surged through the 
crowd. For the first time the boy felt 
afraid. Were they going to pardon him ? 
He had thought heaven so near — and 
now was it all a dream ? 

Forgetting those about him, he cried out 
his heart's longing, "Jesus, let me die 
for You. You have shown Your power, 
now show Your mercy, and bid me come. ' 
Tears of earnestness stood in the dark 
eyes, and lips that had smiled at certain 
death trembled now. 

As though in answer to that prayer the 
lions sprang toward him. From where 
they had crouched, a few feet away, the 
boy saw them come, and with a glad cry 
raised his head. A dark, lean body leaped 
up and folded itself about the white form. 

[148] 



PANCRATIUS, BOY MARTYR 

With lips parted, as though to speak his 
King's dear name, the boy fell dead, 
crowned with the rubies of his own blood, 

the jewels of martyrdom. 

Feast, May twelfth. 



[149] 



Potomiana of The Lilies 

T N the slave quarters of a great Roman 
-*■ villa, a girl of fifteen was sitting at her 
mother's feet. 

The little hut was wretchedly poor. 
The floor was of sun-baked earth, the bed 
a bundle of branches, with a covering of 
some coarse stuff. The sunlight filtered 
through the one window, casting a glory 
over the bowed head of the girl. She was 
beautiful with a loveliness, that seemed to 
lift her above her sordid surroundings. 
Her eyes were those of a little child, but the 
lips, firm and sweet, revealed a strong soul. 
She was pale now, and seemed troubled. 

There was a wistful look in the mother's 
eyes, and she lifted the fair young face to 
her own as she questioned her of the day. 

"Was the master then so angry when 
he learned that thou wert a Christian,' 
she asked gently. 

[150] 



POTOMIANA OF THE LILIES 

The girl hesitated. 

"Tell me, child/' the mother urged. 

"I have seldom seen him so angry, mo- 
ther,' Potomiana whispered. "He said 
that a slave must obey a master, and that 
unless I would do his will, he would put 
me to death." 

"And what didst thou say to him, my 
daughter?" 

The girl raised her head proudly. "I 
said, My body, indeed, is yours, but my 
soul is long ago given to God, and will 
never renounce Him. 

There was a moment's silence. Half 
reverently the mother rested her hand on 
her daughter's dark hair. Both knew 
what that brave answer would mean. 
Their hearts were so full that speech did 
not come easily. 

Potomiana spoke first. "I am to go to 
him again tomorrow, mother dear, and 
should I still refuse to give up my God, ' '— 
she hesitated, then added softly,— "I will 

[151] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

not see thee again until we meet before 
God." 

The mother's lips trembled, but she 
answered courageously, "I give my little 
daughter back to Jesus Christ, Who gave 
her first to me. ' ' 

At the appointed hour, the next morn- 
ing, Potomiana was again in the presence 
of the master. Her eyes were downcast, 
her cheeks white as the lilies she bore in 
her arms. Quietly she arranged the 
flowers near the long doors that led to the 
garden, then stood with clasped hands, her 
face turned from the sunlight, waiting her 
sentence. 

"Well," the master's voice asked harsh- 
ly, "What is your answer?" 

' 'My answer was given to you yesterday, 
my lord,' she replied, "and cannot be 
changed. ' ' 

He looked at her with something like 
admiration. Silently she stood among 
the lilies, her soul in its purity fairer than 

[ 152] 



POTOMIANA OF THE LILIES 

they. In a painless, fragrant death they 
were breathing out their lives, but the lily 
of Jesus must suffer in dying. 

Only a moment the master hesitated, 
then the order came. "Go, worthless 
slave, I condemn you to be burned in a 
cauldron of burning pitch." 

The girl bowed her head. At a signal, 
two soldiers led her away. Ah, that cruel, 
white road of martyrdom, jostled by the 
curious crowd, and with a death of ter- 
rible agony awaiting her at its ending! 
The wind bore towards her the odor of 
burning pitch, and she thought of it as 
the incense that was to accompany her 
life's sacrifice to God. 

Brave to the end, she met her death. 
Dark fumes rose about her, but out of their 
midst, as a snow-white dove, sped the soul 
of the slave-maiden. Up from the clamors 
of earth to peace and the embrace of the 
King Whose little spouse she was. 

Feast, June seventh. 
[153] 



Quiricus, The Baby Martyr 

rpHE mother was dreaming of the 
*■ future, her eyes fixed on the far-off 
line, where the hilltops met the summer 
sky , Roses climbed riotously over the white 
arches of the portico. To the westward, 
fields of golden grain swayed at the touch 
of the lightest breeze. The slaves were 
singing at their work. 

At her feet nestled a baby form. Little 
Quiricus, weary of play, had fallen asleep, 
a few faded flowers grasped tight in his 
dimpled hand. The mother's gaze rested 
on his tossed curls, and she felt her eyes 
grow dim. 

It was not for herself that she dreaded 
the future and its possible martyrdom; it 
was for the child, who was dearer to her 
than her heart's blood. Should she be 
apprehended and condemned, what would 

[154] 




"And Oh, the questions when day was done, and 
he came to lie in her arms." 



QUIRICUS, THE BABY MARTYR 

happen to him? Would he forget after 
her death the Baby Jesus Whom he now 
loved so tenderly ? 

She lifted the face of the sleeping child 
to her own. Three short years had he 
been hers. The first words his lips 
had uttered were "Jesus, Mary." His 
innocent soul lived with those whose 
names he spoke so reverently. Some- 
times in the midst of his play she would 
see the baby eyes grow large, and the little 
feet stay their eager dancing, as though he 
heard Jesus calling him. And oh, the 
questions, when day was done, and he lay 
dreamily in her arms !— questions that she 
answered with a softly breathed prayer, 
so direct and sacred were they. 

Quincus stirred, and mother-love forced 
to her lips the smile her baby knew. Two 
little hands clutched at her robe, and with 
a merry laugh the lad scrambled to his 
feet. For a moment Julitta pressed him 
to her heart. He wound his arms about 

[155] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

her neck, and the touch of his lips so close 
to her own dispelled her fears. If she so 
loved her child, how much greater was the 
love of God for the little soul He had 
created ? Bravely she would face what 
might come, trusting her baby to that 
love. 

Alexander, governor of Tarsus, hated 
the Christians. Julitta was of royal 
blood, too well known to escape detec- 
tion, and was soon summoned to appear 
before him. On the 13th of June, 304, 
the trial took place. 

Alexander took Quiricus from his mo- 
ther, and tried with caressing word and 
voice to win the little heart. The baby's 
eyes roved about with wonder. He could 
not understand why he should be in the 
governor's arms, while his dear mother 
was tied to a post so far away. With the 
child's face hidden in his purple toga, the 
governor questioned Julitta. Finding that 
she remained firm, he ordered her to be 

[156] 



QUIRICUS, THE BABY MARTYR 

whipped. At the first sharp hiss of the 
leaded cords the baby's head was raised. 
^ "Mother, mother," he cried piteously, 
"I love you." 

With wonderful courage, the mother's 
cry answered his, "Love Jesus, my little 
son." 

In his efforts to break away, Quiricus 
tore wildly at the purple robe. 

"I do love Jesus, I love Him, I love 
Him," he sobbed. 

The governor held the little hands. 
Gently as a mother he kissed the trem- 
bling lips and soothed the baby's fright. 
"Be still, wee one," he commanded 
very softly. 

Over in the far court the terrible 
scourging went on, but now the mother 
was silent. Her heart was a throbbing, 
living prayer for her child. He was no 
longer by her side, but in the power of 
the governor, cloaked in his purple mantle, 
shielded in his arms. 

[157] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

" Guardian angel of my little one, keep 
white his robe of baptism— give his soul 
back to God as pure as it was then. ' ' 

So intense was her prayer that the 
sharp pain was almost forgotten. The 
memory of her confidence that day in the 
garden came back to her now as a gleam 
of comfort. God would not forget. 

Half in a dream she raised her head, 
and saw Quiricus struggle again to break 
away. 

Over and over, he cried aloud, ' ' Dear 
Jesus, I love You. ' ' Angered at last, the 
governor lifted the child in his arms and 
threw him down violently. 

There was one cry, and a little form lay 
quiet at the foot of the marble steps. The 
child had sped ahead of his mother on the 
royal road of martyrdom. 

Feast, June sixteenth. 



[158] 



Rogation, Red- Robed 

"PRONATION entered the house with a 
*^ light step. His brother looked up 
from the parchment he was reading, and 
smiled a welcome. The two were rare 
comrades, sharing alike joy and sorrow. 
With the quick intuition of love, Roga- 
tion felt, rather than saw, some difference 
in his brother. ' 'Something has happened 
to make you glad, ' ' he said. ' 'Tell me 
what it is. " 

Donation bowed his head. 'To-day I 
was made a child of God, ' ' he answered. 
"I have only just come from the bap- 
tismal font. O, my brother, would that 
you too were a Christian, that as apostles 
we might go out together and bring 
others to Christ Jesus." 

A shade passed over the boy's face. 

[159] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

"Would, indeed, that I were a Chris- 
tian, ' ' he replied sadly. 

Donation drew his brother closer. 
"Will you let me teach you of God?" he 
pleaded. 

"Yes, yes," the boy answered. 

Reverently Donation began his task, 
and when he had done his brother sprang 
to his feet. His eyes were glowing, and 
eager love revealed itself in every line of 
his boyish form. 

"I believe in Jesus Christ," he cried, 
' 'and I shall follow Him. ' ' 

But Baptism was still far away. It was 
in the midst of a time of persecution, 
when it was not always easy to reach the 
pastor of the flock, though he strove to 
be ever near, in disguise, to them who 
needed his care. 

The brothers were arrested on the 
charge of being Christians, and brought 
to the courts. Donation was questioned 
first, then sent to prison, leaving his 

[160] 



ROGATION, RED-ROBED 

brother alone. As the one he so dearly 
loved was dragged from the room in 
chains, the older boy set his lips. True, 
he was not yet a child of God, save in 
desire, but even desires were dear to the 
Lord. 

Nobly he answered the questions of the 
judge, and strong in his new-found faith 
never faltered. A brief hour, and the 
brothers were reunited. The prison doors 
grated shut, the bars were drawn, and 
they were alone. Their hands were bound, 
their ankles chained to the rough wall. 
The elder brother was suddenly startled 
by the sound of low, broken sobs. Pain- 
fully he moved his arms and touched 
Rogation. 

"Are you in sorrow because you have 
not been baptized?" he asked gently. 

The boy assented. 

"We will pray that your life-blood 
given for Jesus may be your baptism," 
Donation whispered comfortingly. 

[161] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Darkness settled over the cell, but the 
sharp stones and broken clay made a 
weary resting place. Through the long 
night they clung to each other, and the 
first pale rays of sunlight found them 
ready for the summons. 

United in love and faith, they went forth 
to die. Together they bore the rack and 
sword, together they won the martyr's 
crown. 

Fear had passed from Rogation's soul. 
Clad in the red baptismal robe of his own 
blood, he lifted his soul for the inheritance 
of a child of God. 

Feast, May twenty-fourth. 



[162] 



Rose of Viterbo 

T3EFORE the tabernacle door a little 
" child was praying. Her hands were 
folded, her eager eyes uplifted in sweet 
confidence. Jesus was there. 

The chapel was very still. The morning 
sunshine flooded the aisles with golden 
light, and the child in her white robe and 
fair hair seemed more of heaven than of 
earth. Hour after hour she would linger 
in the dear Lord's presence, whispering 
her love to Him. Jesus and Jesus' 
Mother filled her heart. 

Along the dewy lanes at dawn, she 
would speed to Him, to tell Him all her 
secrets through the frail barrier of the little 
altar door. Then home again, in the 
dim twilight, to dream of Him, and long 
for the time when she would be with Him 
again. 

[163] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

When she was ten years old she received 
the Franciscan habit from the hands of 
the Blessed Mother. A little later she 
was given a strange work to do. 

Pope Innocent IV. had been driven 
from Rome by what was there known as 
the Imperial party, under the influence of 
Frederick II. Loyal Catholics turned to 
God for help. 

Rose was the answer to their prayer. 
"Go and preach, ' : God's Mother said, 
and Rose obeyed. Young girl as she was, 
she took her stand in the market place of 
Viterbo. Clothed in the coarse brown 
habit of the Order of Saint Francis, with 
the fragrance of innocence as the breath 
of a lily about her, she spoke, and her 
counsel was wise and firm. God's will 
was shown through His servant, and His 
power and wisdom thrilled the hearts of 
the listeners, the more that the instrument 
He had chosen was so docile in His hands. 

Fearing her influence, the Imperial 

[164] 



ROSE OF VITERBO 

party drove her from the city. But in 
suffering, as in peace, she carried on her 
work. 

At last her task was done, and the 
people won their rights, strong in the 
strength of God learned from the girl- 
champion of the Pope. The Sovereign 
Pontiff was brought back to Rome, and 
Rose returned to her little village. 

In a quiet spot she made herself a cell, 
and there alone with God she spent many 
a happy hour. Kneeling on the bare 
earth, as so long ago, before Jesus, in the 
little chapel, her soul was lifted far above 
the tumult of the world. Peace was mir- 
rored in her clear eyes, peace rested on 
her calm brow. 

She was only eighteen when she died. 
The Church honors her with another girl 
saint, Rosalia, on the fourth of Septem- 
ber. 

Feast, September fourth. 

[165] 



Simon, Infant Martyr 

TT was in the Spring of the year 1472, 
**■ in the city of Trent, in a quiet 
nook, a band of Jews were gathered. The 
fields were blanketed with snowy petals, 
shed by the still white trees. Branches 
ladened with pale blossoms drooped to 
the very ground, veiling the brown 
trunks with a mantle of living beauty. A 
meadow brook mirrored back the vision 
of earth and sky— and the dark faces of 
the men on its bank. 

It was Holy Week, and the feast of the 
Jewish Passover was at hand. Bitterly 
their minds traveled back over the past. 
They were an outcast people. And why ? 
Because long ago their nation had risen 
up against Jesus of Nazareth, Who was 
God, and had crucified Him. 

They did not stop to think that they 

[166] 



SIMON, INFANT MARTYR 

were outcast by their own fault, that the 
love of the Good Shepherd yearned over 
His lost sheep, longing to bring them 
back to the fold. No, their hearts were 
dark in sorrow and ignorance and sin. 
They would plan some deed of blood 
for the Good Friday to come. A little 
Christian must die. 

Then one of the number left the others 
and wandered through the near-by lanes. 
The rest waited. 

Soon Tobias returned leading a child. 
The baby held a bright coin, and had 
lifted happy, confident eyes to the dark 
man who had been so good. 

That night Simon, the infant martyr, 
gave up to God a little soul so white, so 
pure, that Jesus gathered it into His Arms, 
sealing it with the red Blood of His Sacred 
Heart. 

Ah, if his persecutors had but known 
the secret of the child's strength ! Beside 
him his guardian angel knelt with out- 

[167] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

stretched, shining wings, and the baby soul 
was safe in his care throughout the long 
torture. 

If God so loved His children martyrs, 
the little Holy Innocents, who died that 
He might live, how dear to Him must 
have been this wee soul ! They are called 
the ' ' Flowers of the Martyrs, ' ' and Simon 
by his death deserves to be known as 
another sweet blossom for the eternal 
delight of God. 

Many miracles have been the sign of 
God's love for him. His relics are under 
the high altar of St. Peter's in Trent, and 
the Church honors him by a feast day of 
his own. 

Feast, March twenty-fourth. 



[168] 



Soteris, The Patrician's 
Daughter 

T T was toward evening, and the marble 
*- hall was flooded with rose light. Mir- 
rors of burnished steel caught the soft 
color and threw little gleams of opal over 
the fountain in the midst of the court. 
Dark slaves in picturesque turbans moved 
swiftly about their work. The silence was 
unbroken save for the rippling music of 
the waters. 

In the absence of her father, Soteris was 
alone with her maidens. Her room was 
simple, a strange contrast to the luxury 
of the rest of the palace, and her slaves 
were robed in white. By her sweetness 
and her learning she had converted many 
about her from paganism. Wherever she 
went she breathed a radiant love of God. 

[169] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

She was beautiful, with a frail, exquisite 
loveliness. 

One of her slaves announced the coming 
of her father, and she went to meet him. 

The glow of twilight had faded, and the 
great hall was lighted by bronze lamps 
hung from the arches. Low couches were 
drawn to the table for the feast. The 
jeweled robes of the Roman patricians 
gleamed with strange brightness. 

Down the wide steps, surrounded by her 
virgins, came the Christian maiden. To 
her father she had never seemed so beauti- 
ful as tonight. He knew that the per- 
secution against the Christians, under 
Diocletian, had just broken out, and his 
heart was full of fear for the child he loved. 
How could that slight, girlish form bear 
the rod or rack? And yet, descended as 
they were from a long line of consuls, 
there was grave danger, should the Chris- 
tianity of this generation be discovered. 

Soteris knew her peril, but to one who 

[170] 



SOTERIS, THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER 

walked as she did, in close union with the 
dear Lord, a martyr's death lost all its 
terror. He would be near, His Hand 
would uplift her in the valley of the 
shadow, His love shield her from harm. 

All the guests of the rich Patrician loved 
the girl, but few knew her to be a Chris- 
tian. As she presided now, with her 
usual grace, no one knew that it was for 
the last time. 

A short week later she was numbered 
among God's martyrs. Beaten in the 
face until great bruises were raised, there 
was but joy in her heart. So had Jesus 
suffered in the dungeon of Caiphas. 

She was condemned to be beheaded. 
She heard her sentence with serenity. On 
her forehead gleamed red drops of blood. 
She was crowned as her King had been 
crowned, and bravely she went to meet 

Him. 

Feast, February tenth. 

[171] 



Tarcisius, Martyr of The Blessed 
Sacrament 

T N the noisome dungeons of the Mamer- 
* tine, the Christians were praying. 
The air was foul, broken potsherds were 
strewn on the floor, and the walls were 
streaked with dampness. Heavily chained 
and racked with pain were these chosen 
ones, yet a new joy brightened their eyes, 
hope throbbed in every heart. A messen- 
ger had been sent to the catacombs with 
the word of their coming martyrdom, and 
they were waiting for What they felt sure 
would be brought to be their strength in 
combat. He was coming Who was their 
God. 

As they waited and prayed, a cloaked 
figure sought a hidden entrance to the 
cemetery. Off from the Appian Way, 
near the fountain of Egeria, a luminaria, 

[172] 



TARCISIUS, THE MARTYR 

or air shaft, opened directly into one of the 
underground crypts. It was used only in 
times of great danger, as at the present. 
Through it the man let himself down. 
Mass was being offered, and he knelt rev- 
erently until it was ended. 

Then he slipped off his cloak, revealing 
his soldier's armor, and advancing to the 
altar said something to the priest in a 
low voice. A little hesitation, then the 
priest turned to the people and told them 
of the Christians in the Mamertine who 
were to be martyred on the morrow. 
Would any one be brave enough to carry 
the Lord to them ? 

The little altar boy, Tarcisius, looked 
up eagerly. "Choose me, Father!" he 
begged. "Let me carry Jesus to them!" 

The priest looked at him. The boy's 
lips were parted, and he seemed poised 
ready for flight as he knelt, so lightly, on 
the altar step. 

"But you are young, child," he said 

[173] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

gently. "Do you realize that you will be 
bearing God in your arms, and that you 
must rather die than let Him be taken 
from you V ' 

The boy's eyes filled. "I do, my 
Father, ' ' he answered simply. 

The priest yielded. "The task is yours, 
my little one, ' ' he said. 

Carefully he wrapped the white Host 
in the finest linen, put It in a golden case, 
and gave It to the boy. With crossed 
hands Tarcisius held It close, and knelt 
still a moment in tremulous love. Then 
out into the sunlight he sped, bearing his 
precious Burden. 

Half the journey was made, when he 
passed a group of pagan lads in the midst 
of a game. 

"Ho, there, Tarcisius!" they cried. 
"Whither goest thou?" 

The boy made no answer, but hurried 
on his way. 

A few quick strides and he was over- 
[174] 



TARCISIUS, THE MARTYR 

taken. "What art thou bearing?" they 
questioned roughly. "Open thy hands and 
show us." 

Tarcisius shook his head. "Never," 
he answered courageously. They knocked 
him down, and tried to force his arms 
apart, but they clung to their Treasure. 
With all his soul the boy prayed that he 
might keep his trust. Blows rained about 
him, strong hands tore at the childish 
arms, rough kicks covered him with 
wounds. But Jesus was safe. 

It was almost over. Consciousness was 
slipping, and the shouts of his tormentors 
sounded far away. Suddenly the blows 
ceased. Summoning all his slight strength, 
the little martyr waited, — but the end had 
come. 

A gentle voice sounded in his ears, and 
strong arms lifted him from the ground. 
Quadratus was just in time. The boy 
opened his eyes, and seeing the Christian 
soldier, whispered, " I have Jesus with 

[175] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

me,' and fainted. Reverently, so rev- 
erently, the soldier held the boy, on whose 
heart, as on a Paten of love, lay his Lord. 
A few moments later the altar boy 
was with his King. On the shining step 
of the altar of heaven he knelt, and the 
Lord Whom he had died to save wel- 
comed him in His glory. Not for a 
moment only was his reward to be — but 
forever! And God's angels greeted with 
love the martyr of the Blessed Sacrament. 

Feast, August nineteenth. 



[176] 




"O little Lad with the grapes and wheat, help us to 
know You in the Sacrament of Your love.*' 



Thecla, First Girl-Martyr 

rpHE great apostle bowed his head. He 
*■ had spoken with burning zeal of the 
glory of following Jesus Christ and being 
His alone, and now he was praying for the 
young virgin who was standing before him. 

Thecla, too, was praying. At last she 
spoke. "I shall follow my King where- 
soever He leads," she said softly, "and no 
home will be mine save His. ' ' 

Saint Paul rejoiced and bade her watch 
and pray, that she might be ready when 
the hour of trial came. When he left 
Iconium it was with a strong prayer in his 
heart for her, that she might indeed stand 
firm. 

Her position was difficult. Before she 
had known of the glory of virginity, she 
had been betrothed to a young man famed 
for his riches and generosity. Now her 
only hope lay in flight, away from the 

[177] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

anger of her parents, and the disappoint- 
ment of her lover. For Jesus Christ had 
chosen her for His own. 

In Rome she was brought before the 
tribunal and condemned to be the prey 
of wild beasts in the arena. Perhaps it 
was on the very day that the Church 
honors her, September twenty-third, that 
the ordeal took place. It was only a little 
while after the death of our Lord, and 
Thecla was the first girl to suffer for 
His love. 

The first! For those who came later 
there would be the sweet memory of other 
virgin martyrs, who had gone before, and 
now slept with Christ. But Thecla was 
the first! 

Alone and perhaps afraid, she stood in 
the great arena. Far, so far away, gleamed 
the blue skies. But God was not only in 
heaven, the world was His. And His, 
wholly His, was the heart of the little 
maid. 

[178] 



THECLA, FIRST GIRL-MARTYR 

A dark sea of faces surrounded her, the 
sands of the circus were red with the blood 
of gladiators, and the great cages, now 
being lifted from their underground keeps, 
revealed hungry beasts. The iron bars 
were dropped, and the lions rushed out. 

Thecla saw them come, and closed her 
eyes. In an instant they were upon her, 
— but not to do her harm. Trembling, as 
though struck by an invisible power, they 
crouched at her feet. God was near indeed 
to His first little martyr. 

In other ways men sought her death, 
but God willed that she should live, and 
man was powerless. At last the hour 
came when God, having protected her so 
well, called her home, to bless her with the 
glorious title that was hers, — first virgin 
martyr after His own Mother, the Queen 

of Martyrs. 

Feast, September twenty-third. 



[179] 



Ulpian, The Friend 

"^TLTAS it long ago?" Ulpian asked 

* V breathlessly. 

"No, scarcely a month past. I knew 
him well, and called him friend. Now, 
though I know not where to find his body, 
he is more truly my friend than before. ' : 

"I too knew him," Ulpian broke in, 
' 'although not so nearly as you. I can pic- 
ture it all. The great crowd gathered for 
the sacrifice, the judge Urbanus about to 
swing the censer, and Apian, a boy like 
myself, staying the act. What a glorious 
martyrdom was his!" 

Then he paused. "But you say you 
know not where his body lies. Was it 
not buried?" 

"It was thrown into the sea," his com- 
panion answered, "and a great earthquake 

[180] 



ULPIAN, THE FRIEND 

at the moment his body touched the water 
bore witness to the power of God." 

There was silence, while the boys faced 
the stretch of water with bared heads. It 
was a moment for lofty thought and 
unspoken yearning. The day was not 
far off when Ulpian himself must face 
martyrdom, as his friend had done, and 
would find rest under the same waste of 
water. Perhaps he could foresee that day 
in mental vision, perhaps it was hidden 
from him. But from that moment mar- 
tyrdom was his constant prayer. 

Urbanus, the cruel judge who had put 
Apian to death at Cassarea, heard of his 
noble friend in Tyre and sent for him. 
The boy's heart was full as he stood in 
the court room. Perhaps on this very spot 
Apian had listened to his sentence. ' O 
my friend, plead for me before the Throne 
of Christ," he prayed silently, "that I 
may be strong as thou wert." 

Instruments of torture hung on the 

[181] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

walls. The rack with its heavy ropes 
showed to the right of the tribunal and 
lictors with their bundles of fasces stood 
in grim strength behind the judge. 

Scarcely waiting for the questions, 
Ulpian boldly confessed Christ. His head 
was lifted proudly, and his eyes with 
boyish love sought the glimmer of the 
sea, clearly visible through the grilled 
windows. 

He was condemned to be scourged and 
racked. The order was carried out at 
once. For hours the torture endured. 
But life was long in going, and the calm 
strength and even joy of the boy-martyr 
was the wonder of all who beheld it. 

Lying there in his own blood, with no 
friend near to pity, no kindly hand to 
soothe, the boy felt strangely at peace. 
His body was in exquisite pain, but to 
his soul the gates of Eternity were swing- 
ing ajar. Half unconscious as he was, 
the rumble of voices and the sharp hiss of 

[182] 



ULPIAN, THE FRIEND 

the whips was as the sound of a mighty 
wind bearing him nearer his goal. 

Perhaps he was still living when they 
cast him into the sea, for life dies hard in 
the young. Down into the waves he sank, 
as a weary child into its mother's arms. 
Faithful to the end, giving up his life at 
the age when life is at its fairest, worthy 
indeed was he of the honor of a martyr's 

crown. 

Feast, April third. 



[183] 



Venantius, Knight of The Cross 

"T^vARK smoke fumes hung like a pall 
■Vr over the courtyard. On an elevated 
platform, apart from the terrible scene, 
sat the judge who had given the sentence, 
and his secretary, noting, as was the cus- 
tom, the effect of torture on the victim. 
The fire had been deadened that death 
might come from suffocation, but by an 
occasional spurt of flame, the figure of a 
mere lad could be seen in the thick of the 
smoke. The ropes that bound him seemed 
to have been burned away, for his arms 
were free. 

The secretary watched keenly, waiting 
for the sudden fall that must come . Then 
he started violently. A white-robed form 
appeared beside the boy, treading out the 
smoldering embers, scattering the smoke. 
The majestic look of the angel and the 

[184] 



VENANTIUS, KNIGHT OF THE CROSS 

lad's uplifted expression of confidence 
awed the man. He threw aside his quill. 
The God of Venantius alone is true 
God!" he cried. 

The boy stood free and unharmed in 
the midst of the court, with but the cling- 
ing odor of smoke about him, to bear wit- 
ness to the ordeal through which he had 
passed. 

The judge himself was touched. Dis- 
missing his secretary, he ordered the boy 
to be sent to the governor. There, once 
again firm in faith, Venantius was con- 
demned to be cast into a furnace. And 
as before his angel delivered him. 

The tyrant then commanded a picked 
band of soldiers to drag the boy through 
a mesh of brambles and thorns. 

As the order was being carried out, the 
soldiers complained loudly of thirst. Ve- 
nantius knelt on a rock and signed it 
with a cross. The soldiers watched in 
wonder as they saw a clear stream of 

[185] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

water bubble from the cross he had traced. 
In astonishment, the echo of that tribute 
given in the courtyard rang out again 
here on the old road, ' 'The God of Venan- 
tius alone is true God!" A boyish soldier 
of Christ had planted the standard of His 
King in the hearts of those who had fol- 
lowed but a ruler of earth. 

Eagerly they drank of the water. Then 
they loosened the ropes that bound the 
boy, and gathered at his feet. Simply, 
Venantius taught them of the dear King 
we know and love. And the rough men, 
won by his gentleness, listened as little 
children, — and believed. 

A report of the miracle was brought to 
the governor. Instantly he ordered the 
boy and his soldier-converts to be be- 
headed. 

A little off the roadside, beyond the 
limits of Camerino, the executioners led 
the martyrs. Venantius, barely fifteen 
years old at the time, knelt down by the 

[186] 



VENANTIUS, KNIGHT OF THE CROSS 

milestone appointed, his burly soldiers 
by his side. 

There was a moment of silent prayer, 
— and the end came. A boyish knight of 
the cross had brought his captives, chained 
by grace, to the Feet of his heavenly King. 

Feast, May eighteenth. 



[187] 



Victoria, Brave- Heart 

TT was in the city of Rome, in the reign 
*■ of the Emperor Decius. Terrible tales 
of his cruelties to the Christians had 
spread over the country. In Antioch, 
Alexandria, and even in Persia many had 
suffered martyrdom, and now Rome was 
to win her crown. The edict read, 'Who- 
soever confesses himself a Christian shall 
be tormented until he renounce his faith. ' ! 

Before this the law had been, ' 'Death 
to the Christians." Now the Emperor 
thought by slow torture to weaken his 
victims. The martyr's palm was to be 
won not by one swift blow of the sword, 
but only after days and nights of pro- 
longed agony. 

It was in this persecution that the boy 
martyr Dioscorus so bravely confessed his 
faith, and that the seven boys of Ephesus 

[188] 



VICTORIA, BRAVE-HEART 

were buried alive rather than deny their 
God. 

Victoria knew their stories. The guards 
who had witnessed their heroism had re- 
peated the tale again and again, and the 
Christians prayed that God might grant 
them the same courage when their hour 
should come. The girl had promised our 
Lord, as had Agnes, to live for Him alone. 

Eugenius pleaded for her hand in 
marriage, but she told him, as she had told 
the others, that her heart was given to 
God. His anger frightened her, but did 
not change her will. The memory of those 
who had gone forth to die as brides of 
Christ was as a gleam of starlight in 
darkness. They were with God and were 
pleading for her now. 

The man stood silent a moment after 
the refusal, half unconsciously watching 
the expression on Victoria's face. There 
was fear there, but to the tumult fear had 
made, Jesus spoke, and "Peace, be still," 

[189] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

rang over her troubled soul. He could 
not understand the sudden calm or the 
more than earthly beauty that radiated 
from her presence. She whispered as she 
waited for the hour so soon to come, ' 'My 
heart is ready, O Lord, my heart is ready. 

She was called before the judge, and 
ordered to offer sacrifice to the gods. As 
she looked at the high throne and the altar 
of sacrifice, where Jupiter was adored, she 
felt an ecstatic thrill of joy. It was not 
an idol of stone she knew as God! And 
it was with a smile that she turned away 
with the old brave cry of the Christians, 
"I will never bow to Jupiter!" 

She was condemned to be pierced through 
the heart. As she knelt to meet the thrust, 
there came the thought, "So did it happen 
to my Lord on the Cross!" And the 
little virgin of Christ shed her heart's life- 
blood for Him Who had first shed His 
Blood for her. 

Feast, May sixth. 

[190] 



William of The Shops 

rpHE boy paused at the open door. 
■■■ The noise and confusion of the shop 
rang in his ears, the streets were thronged 
with people, hurried and anxious faced. He 
lifted his eyes to the quiet skies,— there at 
least was peace! And he smiled as he 
thought how near heaven was, and how 
little even poor, poor people need worry 
over their daily needs, since God was ever 
watching. 

He was old beyond his years, this boy 
of twelve. He thought of many things 
that did not enter into the minds of other 
boys. His parents were simple country 
folk, living in Norwich. William was an 
apprentice in a tanner's shop. 

Though his pause was but for a 
moment, the smile still lingered on his 
lips as he turned back to the close little 

[191] 



WILLIAM OF THE SHOPS 

stock room. It was heavy work, and ill- 
suited to one so young, but the lad was 
strong, and worked gladly. 

He had seemed one of God's own from 
the very beginning. Before his birth his 
mother knew from a vision that the child 
whom the Lord would send would be a 
saint,— and he had fulfilled her dreams. 
Often at night she would steal up to his 
little room under the eaves, and watch him 
at prayer. Sometimes the misty moon- 
light would play about his head as a silver 
aureole. Then the mother, sinking on 
her knees in the dark hall, would pray 
that her boy might ever keep his fair 
purity of soul. 

One day, just before Easter, 1137, the 
lad was captured by a band of Jews and 
crucified, out of hatred for Christ. The 
boy's simple, happy faith and holiness of 
life had fitted him to be their victim. 

He was conscious as he was thrown on 
the rough cross, conscious as the nails 

[192] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

were driven through his hands. What 
wonderful love and courage! 

Perhaps the knowledge of this sweet 
sacrifice brought some gleam of comfort 
to our dear Lord as He hung on His cross. 
Here at least was love for love. 

Five years passed before his body was 
discovered, then it was buried with honor 
in the cathedral churchyard. That God's 
love for His martyr might be shown, many 
were the miracles that were worked over 
the small grave. The sick were healed, 
and virtue went out from the precious 
relics through the power of the divine 
Physician. One midwinter a rose bush 
burst into leaf and blossom at the foot 
of the little mound, and as fragrant as 
those winter flowers is the lad's memory 

to the faithful people of Norwich. 

Feast, March twenty-fourth. 



[193] 



Winefrede of Holy Well 

n^HE voice of Beuno, the saintly abbot, 
* rang with power over the gathered 
throng. The fame of the monastery of 
Holy Well had attracted them, and they 
had come in crowds to pray at the 
shrine, hoping that God would more 
willingly listen to them there. But as 
they listened to the words that fell from 
the old man's lips, their own desires— 
every other thought save God's will, was 
for the moment forgotten. 

At the foot of the pulpit, half hidden 
in its shadow, knelt a beautiful child. 
Every one knew and loved Winefrede, and 
almost reverenced her as the niece of the 
noble abbot. 

Her parents were of royal birth, but of 
simple holiness. They had trained their 

[194] 




Near the altar knelt Winefrede, as knelt the 
children of long ago, about the first little altar of 
St. Peter." 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

daughter to seek first the kingdom of 
God. Her First Communion day had just 
passed, and from the moment that God 
had made His home in her heart the child 
had seemed to live as one apart. Her 
very presence was like a gleam of 
sunshine. Her merry laugh and gleeful 
play, her sweet sympathy and childlike 
seriousness, won all hearts. The flowers, 
the snow-clad hills, the driving rain, all 
spoke to her of God. They were as His 
voice, bidding her lift up her thoughts 
to Him. 

One day God called her to follow Him 
yet more closely. As clearly as though 
He were standing before her, she heard the 
old, sweet plea, "If thou wilt be perfect, 
come and follow Me. 

And in answer, her whole heart went 
out to Him with the cry, "Behold, 
Lord, I come." What joy on earth could 
ever compare with that of being called by 
Christ! What happiness could be sweeter 

[195] 



WINEFREDE OF HOLY WELL 

than the cross laid on one's shoulder by 
His dear hand! 

Caradoc, son of Prince Alen of Wales, 
begged her hand in marriage, but his every 
appeal met with a firm yet gentle refusal. 

As a religious, she served God as joy- 
ously and as simply as she had done when 
a child, yet with a clearer and deeper in- 
sight as she advanced in years. 

After her death the monastery of Holy 
Well held precious memories for those 
who had known and loved her. They 
who came there to pray felt that in heaven 
she was still a friend, and as a friend, they 
sought her intercession. This many 
still do, with unfailing confidence that 
she will obtain for them what she her- 
self won, the vision of Christ. 

Feast, November third. 



[196] 



A Little Follower of Xavier. 

TT was soon after the death of Saint 
Francis Xavier, the great apostle who 
had labored for the conversion of Japan. 
Through the village streets he had passed, 
ringing a bell, and gathering the children 
about him. After they had learned of 
God he sent them to their parents as 
little disciples. The awakened faith of 
the people grew strong, and their love grew 
stronger still. When, forty years after 
Saint Francis Xavier 's death, a persecu- 
tion broke out against the Christians, 
these converts formed a martyrs' band, 
that by union in prayer they might gain 
strength for what lay before them. Even 
children joined this band, and in the hour 
of danger proved their courage. 

Peter, a little Christian of scarcely six 
years old, was aroused early one morning 

by his father, and told that in a few hours 

[197] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

he was to be martyred. Only six years 
old! He understood what the summons 
meant. Smiling into his father's eyes, he 
caught up a gay robe and threw it over 
his shoulders. 

"Father," he said, "I am going to Jesus 
this very day. ' ' 

Still smiling, he placed his hand con- 
fidingly in that of the soldier who was 
appointed to lead him to the place of 
death. On the way he prattled of God, 
and gravely wondered that the big soldier 
did not know what he meant. Every one 
must know God! 

When they reached the great hill the 
boy felt the hot tears come. His father's 
body lay on the sun-scorched grass; he 
had gone to Jesus first. Peter knelt down 
and prayed while brushing away the tears. 
Then he lifted his head. ' 'Where my father 
has gone I must go," he said. "Please 
send me to God." 

The soldier turned away with a sob, 

[198] 



A LITTLE FOLLOWER OF XAVIER 

and threw his sabre down. "I cannot," 
he muttered. 

Peter drew his bright cloak about him 
and loosened the scarf at his throat. "I 
am ready," he reminded gently. "Father 
has already gone. ' ' 

Blinded with tears, the soldier stumbled 
down the hill, more than half convinced 
that the God Who could so inspire little 
children, must be the true God. 

Silently the boy knelt by the mutilated 
corpse. At last a brutal slave, picking 
up the sword that the soldier had thrown 
away, gave the death stroke. But his hand 
was unskilled and fell many times on the 
unresisting little form before death came. 
Not a moan escaped the child. With lips 
tightly pressed, he lay still under the ter- 
rible pain. 

At last it was over. A worthy little 
follower of the great Xavier had won his 

martyr's crown. 

Feast (Martyrs of Japan), February fifth. 

[199] 



Yvo, The Student 

rpHE boy knelt for his mother's bless - 
*■ ing. As she raised him up, she 
pressed him to her heart and said gently, 
' 'My son, in your new work so live that 
you may be a Saint." 

The words made a deep impression on 
Yvo's mind, and many times after he had 
left her they came back to him filled with 
new meaning. A boy of brilliant intel- 
lect, he was sent at fourteen to school in 
Paris, and later to Orleans, where he con- 
tinued his studies. Every one loved him 
for his innocence and earnestness. In the 
class room, as in the midst of a heated 
debate, there was a gentle courtesy about 
him, combined with a sturdy defense of 
truth, that won many to the cause of 
justice. 

Alone in his room after the day, his 

[200] 



YVO, THE STUDENT 

thoughts often reverted to his mother's 
words. With her face before him, and 
imagining her eyes fixed upon him, he 
would review the day. Every act was 
weighed as in the scales of her advice, 
every thought, word and motive, until, 
although in his humility he did not know 
it, he had made rapid strides in the way 
of holiness. 

After his hours of study he visited the 
sick in the hospitals. Softly as an angel 
of light, he made his way between the 
beds, giving a word of cheer to some, per- 
haps a word of gentle warning to others, 
while white faces down the long ward 
turned to look after him or watched 
eagerly for his coming. 

He longed to become a priest, but felt 
he was unworthy of so great an honor. 

Secretly he made a vow of chastity, 
and with Christ in his heart worked 
and prayed with redoubled new zeal and 
love. 

[201 ] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

Even after his boyhood years had 
gone, and he had worked as few work in 
preparing for the great step, the thought 
of his unworthiness still held him back. 
Only in obedience to the command of his 
bishop did he at last become a priest. 
Then , with perfect trust in God , he became 
as well father of the poor, father of the 
friendless and suffering. His food was of 
the coarsest, only the scraps that were left 
after the poor had been fed at his hands. 

In the Lent of 1 303 he grew very weak, 
yet humbly said that he must suffer still 
more that his soul might be ready when 
the Master called. This Lent was truly 
for him the night before the resurrec- 
tion. Scarcely had it passed when he went 
home to the Lord, Whom he had served 

as a saint, in boyhood and manhood. 

Feast, May twenty- second. 



[202] 



Zita, The Serving Maid 

HP HE night air blew damp about her, as 
* she hastened over the dark road. 
Bare trees cast queer shadows before her, 
and the strange noises of the woods might 
have filled with fear the heart of many an 
older girl. 

At a turn of the stile a light gleamed 
suddenly across her way, shining from the 
windows of a little church. 

Then for a brief moment the serving 
maid of the rich Fatinelli forgot the long 
hard day that stretched before and the 
stern words that would be her lot. She 
was for a time a care-free child, held close 
in the arms of One Who loved her, and 
Whom she loved. Color came and went 
in her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes 
shone. Her shoulders straightened, as 
though they had thrown off a load, and 

[203] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

the old coarse cloak fell to the floor 
unheeded. 

Swiftly the moments sped. Dawn 
broke; still she remained unconscious of 
the passing time. Long before this, she 
should have returned to bake bread. She 
had always been faithful until now. 

The growing light flooded the church, 
then reality burst on Zita's mind. Her 
work! What should she do? She dreaded 
the anger of her master, the cold con- 
tempt of her fellow-servants, or their 
harsh blows, perhaps , still more. Her feet 
fairly flew over the ground that she had 
traveled that morning with so light a 
heart. 

As she neared home, a delicious fra- 
grance, as of new-made bread, greeted her. 
Who could have done her work ? Surely 
it must have been her mistress, who in a 
spirit of compassion had pitied her. 

She went into the kitchen, trembling a 
little, in fear lest it be a dream. No, there 

[204] 



ZITA, THE SERVING MAID 

were the loaves, done to a golden brown, 
warm to the touch , and fair to see. 

With a thrill of gratitude she ran to her 
mistress and thanked her. "I have had 
nothing to do with it, ' ' the woman cried 
in astonishment. "You must thank one 
of the servants." But they too were in 
ignorance. 

And then Zita knew. It was her angel 
who had done her work while she rested 
with Jesus. All day long her heart was 
singing in a very transport of love. Happi- 
ness glowed in her eyes, and abuse fell on 
her as lightly as summer rain. 

Little by little, her position became 
easier. Gradually she won, by her gentle- 
ness, even those of the servants who had 
been harshest to her, and at last converted 
her master himself. It was done, not by 
miracles, but by persevering sweetness in 
the face of those petty crosses that wear 
away patience, as the constant dropping of 
water wears away a rock. 

[205] 



CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM 

On the night of her death, a bright star 
above her little attic shone out with sud- 
den beauty, as though to show men the 
glory of a soul that, passing through earth 
as a ray of light, had brought joy to all 

with whom it had lived. 

Feast, April twenty-seventh. 



[206] 



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